


Lock & Key

by mandosblaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Torture, Angst, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel is Jack Kline's Parent, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Dean Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Jack Kline Has Powers, Jack Kline Has a Soul, M/M, Major Character Injury, Protective!Castiel, Protective!Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester is Jack Kline's Parent, Sam’s hiding something, Slow Burn, Supportive Sam Winchester, Wings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandosblaster/pseuds/mandosblaster
Summary: "Is that really your solution? Lock up every son of a bitch that pisses you off in some hellish, void-of-anything cage?"The Darkness hadn't been the only being that God kept under lock and key.orAs tensions rise in the supernatural world, Dean and Cas find it increasingly harder to find time to figure out the connection they so obviously share. Glances are stolen, soft moments are shared, and, of course, the threat of an apocalypse looms over their head.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Band-Aids & Bad Guys

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Destiel fic so I hope y'all enjoy :)
> 
> Just a few quick notes:  
> \- This will loosely follow/mention canon events from recent seasons, but the original storyline of those events have basically been changed to fit my story  
> \- The antagonist is based incredibly loosely off of Aoife from Irish Folklore (The Children of Lir); her basic origin is the only thing I didn't change much.  
> \- I posted this on Wattpad, as well, under the user silkynct! 
> 
> That's about it, I hope you enjoy!

Werepires. Actual  _ werepires _ . 

Dean’s blood was still pumping from the adrenaline of hunting  _ real fucking werepires _ . Not some crazy, failed homemade Eve-hybrid (because  _ that _ had been messy), or monsters that disappointingly turned out to be more Nachzehrers, but  _ werepires _ . 

And Dean knew he shouldn’t be happy -- he should currently be concerned both about the injuries he sustained and the fact that somehow there had suddenly been werepires -- but he was just too over the moon to care about the important specifics at the moment.

“Guys, say it with me now:  _ werepire _ ,” Dean said giddily. He currently was showing off his signature boyish grin -- all teeth with those cute little eye crinkles -- as he looked around happily at the others.

“Werepire… I like that,” Jack said from the backseat as a small, toothless grin spread across his face. Sam simply cast a wary look at the two of them. 

Dean, however, nodded to himself happily at Jack’s response. “Damn straight, you do,” he muttered with a proud smile before starting up his precious car. He waited to pull out onto the road, though, seeing as Sam was finding them a place to stop for some coffee on the way home; Dean was content with just getting a cup at the nearest gas station, but Sam’s higher standards required an  _ actual _ café. 

Currently, Dean, Jack, Castiel, and Sam were back in the Impala post-hunt, and the kids they had saved from the werepires had long since left with their parents. Once the last kid had been carted off in the ambulance with a very worried yet relieved mother, the four of them had hidden themselves down the road in the parking lot of an abandoned convenience store so they could rest before returning to the bunker. After all, they had successfully eradicated an entire nest (or was it a den? Dean wasn’t sure) of werepires, and everyone’s head was spinning from both injury and confusion. So, the least they needed was a minute or ten before they began their 4-hour drive back home.

The eldest Winchester was tired and achy and a little hurt (okay, maybe a little more than  _ a little _ ), but  _ holy hell _ , they finally battled  _ actual _ werepires; as far as he was concerned, he was on cloud nine. 

“I don’t think we should necessarily be celebrating it. I mean -- we’ve never seen anything like it before,” Sam said cautiously as he closed out of the maps app on his phone, indicating that he had chosen where he wanted to get coffee, and turned his head towards Dean. The smile on Dean’s face faltered a little, but he said nothing.

“Sam’s right, we need to figure out why and how there are hybrids. Before now, successful hybrids -- aside from Nephilim and Jesse -- were unheard of,” Cas added in his usual gruff tone. Sam met the angel’s eyes in the rearview mirror, sending him a silent thanks for being the only other person who was seemingly thinking logically. 

“Listen, you’re both right, okay? But for now, let me just have this. I mean, come on: They were werepires.  _ Werepires _ !” Dean exclaimed with an air of annoyance. He cast Sam a pointed look only an older brother could have, warning him to not mess with his good mood.

Sam simply sighed and deflated a little in his seat as Dean annoyedly put the Impala in gear, pulling out onto the empty road with a bit more revving than necessary. Not arguing with Dean was the path of least resistance, after all. 

“There’s a café about 150 miles from here; we can stop there for some coffee before heading back to the bunker,” Sam said quietly, almost as if he were offering up his words as an apology. Dean simply grunted in response.

As the drive continued and the worn leather seats proved to be a step below “slightly uncomfortable”, Sam was painfully reminded of the aching wounds on his chest. He reached up to rub delicately at the gauze covered gashes, the movement causing some of the aching to ebb away. But his movements did nothing for the sting that coursed through him upon the touch of his fingers --  _ that _ hurt like hell. 

He paused his movements for a moment to glance at his brother, a question of if they could stop so he could be properly sewn up dying on his lips when he saw his brother’s grimacing face. He looked away quickly so as to not annoy Dean with his worried looks, but in that moment Sam realized the sting in his chest probably paled in comparison to how Dean must be feeling. According to Cas, Dean had received one hell of a beating, and that was  _ before _ all of the werepires (Sam cursed himself for using the term) had been taken care of.

He spared a second glance at his older brother and saw how he winced when he shifted a bit in his seat, and how he wasn’t drumming on the steering wheel like he usually did when his favourite Led Zeppelin song came on. His posture was stiff, too; as if the smallest muscle twitch would set off a domino effect of pain.

Sam then glanced in the rearview mirror, trying to see if Castiel or Jack were as worried. His nerves weren’t eased when he noticed that the fallen angel was staring concernedly at Dean, seemingly contemplating whether or not he wanted to confront the older Winchester about his tendency to be stubbornly reckless. Jack, on the other hand, had fallen asleep on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Dean said gruffly, a lilt of annoyance in his tone upon realizing that Sam and Cas were silently worrying about him. “Just a lil’ banged up is all.”

Castiel huffed in the backseat at Dean’s stubbornness and Sam simply cast one more worried look at his brother before switching his gaze out the window.

Dean, however, rolled his eyes at the two’s antics and turned up the music a few notches. The hunt hadn’t injured him  _ that _ bad. He was  _ fine _ . Besides, it couldn’t have been too terrible if they allowed him to drive home (although, Dean would give them this: No one ever “let” him drive. The only reasons he  _ wouldn’t _ drive were if he was dead, unconscious or trashed).

But thinking back to the hunt -- which even the mere thought of it caused him to wince as images of the fight came back in fractures -- he came to the conclusion that maybe he  _ was _ a bit more injured than his amped up and adrenaline-filled mind had previously let him believe (this, however, was not something that he would admit aloud). However, the issue was that he couldn’t quite remember what exactly had landed him in such a world of pain.

Now that he was coming down from the rush of an eventful hunt, Dean’s mind wandered haphazardly back to the fight. His head ached a bit as he did so but he allowed the memories to wash over him. Because let’s be honest, he wanted to think about the werepires again anyways. 

_ The Winchesters and the angelic duo walked into the creaky and long since abandoned house which, according to Sam’s research and tracking, was now serving as a refuge for a werewolf pack.  _

_ The floorboards groaned beneath their feet as they entered, causing them to pause for a moment in case the sound attracted some unwanted attention. As the house settled around them, a sign that they were momentarily in the clear, Sam cut off to the left to scope out the kitchen and back rooms while Dean took to the right, checking the living room and bedroom. Meanwhile, Castiel and Jack went to the basement to check for any live captives.  _

_ Dean made it quietly to the living room, finishing a quick scope before determining the area was void of any werewolves. He then edged his way to the bedroom, which was only a few paces to the right of the living room. The door -- a moldy wooden plank with chipped white paint -- was, much to Dean’s dismay, latched shut. He peeked through the crack between the floor and the door, where light was filtering out, and couldn’t see any shadows from inside. He then stood up, swiped his hands on his jeans, and then readied his gun in one hand while the other reached for the door knob. He turned the handle slowly, cursing how the metal groaned and squeaked, then nudged the door open with his foot so his hand could steady his raised gun. _

_ The room was small but mirrored the rotted complexion of the door that hid it away. The wallpaper was peeling down the walls in strips, exposing the cracked wall beneath it. A rug that had probably been expensive and beautiful at one point was torn up and muddy, and the metal bed frame that was in the corner of the room simply had a mildewy mattress on it -- no pillows or blankets or anything that resembled proper bedding. But of all the things the bedroom might have had, Dean was glad to discover it didn’t have a werewolf hiding in it. _

_ Dean, only having the closet left to check, stopped reaching for the broken handle midway there when he heard the floorboards creak behind him. Knowing that Sam wasn’t dumb enough to near-silently walk up to his brother during a hunt (or any time, really), Dean cocked the gun he had in his hand and turned around to find a man who was seemingly no older than 20.  _

_ He had black, ruffled hair -- the ends clumped together with what looked like mud -- and cold blue eyes. His face remained stoic while he raked his eyes across Dean, seemingly attempting to read him. Dean shifted on his feet, feeling uncomfortable under the gaze. _

_ “What’re you doing here?” The werewolf asked, his eyes meeting Dean’s. His blue irises flashed a glowing yellow momentarily. The iridescent glow differed from that of the usual werewolves Dean hunted, and the shift from blue to yellow and back again was a sign of unusual restraint. Dean knit his eyebrows in brief confusion before his face returned to what Jack had once deemed as his “hunting face”. _

_ “I should be asking you the same question. There a reason I shouldn’t put you down after what you did to Jackson Young, Elizabeth Hale, and Alex Montgomery? They were  _ **_kids_ ** _ , you sick bastard!” the older Winchester yelled, taking a step forward as the werewolf countered the movement with a step back. Dean thought it odd to see a supernatural being acting in what seemed to be genuine submission. A supernatural being, mind you, who was currently fixing Dean with a confused look at the mention of the victims’ names. _

_ “I don’t…” he trailed off, pausing for a moment. His eyes seemed to gloss over as he glanced at the floor. His daze lasted only for a moment before he was seemingly snapped back into his body. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he finished, his voice coming out surprisingly shaky. Dean eyed the werewolf and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. There was something very obviously wrong with the man before him, and it made Dean feel uneasy. _

_ “Well, think harder!” Dean yelled, his harsh voice causing the werewolf to jump a little. “You ripped out their hearts and you and some of your werewolf buddies had a damn feast. Only, their hearts weren’t enough, were they?” Dean took a step forward, his gun aimed at the werewolf’s head. “Were they?!” The werewolf jumped and Dean furrowed his brow.  _

_ “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The werewolf persisted, his hands up by his head. Dean, however, refused to fall for what could just be a front. _

_ “Why don’t you tell me why you needed to drain their bodies. What was it? Some sort of sick, ritualistic feast that involved all of your victims’ blood?” At the mention of blood, the werewolf stopped his shaking. His eyes glossed over once again and his gaze hardened into something void of fear -- void of  _ anything _ , really. _

_ His demeanour finished its change as sharp, non-werewolf fangs filled his mouth. He growled and groaned, the transformation from werewolf to…  _ something _ , seemingly new and excruciatingly painful. The  _ thing _ , for lack of a better word, no longer seemed scared of the gun Dean still had trained on him; rather, he seemed more like a rabid animal.  _

_ Once the transformation seemed to be over, the monster rushed at Dean, to which the hunter responded by putting a silver bullet in his head. The monster halted for a minute, mouth hung open in a silent scream (or maybe shock, Dean couldn’t tell) before he reached up and dug the hot metal out of his forehead.  _

_ “What the hell…” Dean muttered, aiming another shot at the monster, only this time he kept firing until his clip ran out of bullets. Nonetheless, the monster kept advancing at Dean, his eyes once again a glowing yellow and his mouth filled with those slim, sharp fangs;  _ **_vampire fangs_ ** _.  _

_ “Son of a bitch,” Dean said incredulously as it dawned on him. “You’re a werepire.” Dean smiled in awe, but only for a second as the werepire dove at him, hands outstretched with deadly claws attached to the fingertips.  _

_ The werepire got up from where he had crashed into the closet door, nearly shaking with animalistic anger and hostility.  _

_ Dean broke a rod of metal off of the bed, thinking that impaling the werepire would at least grant him some time to get to Sam and/or Cas and Jack.  _

_ He dove to the side as the werepire approached him again and then he made his move. With some force, he stabbed the beast hard enough to impale him to the closet door. He then wasted no time to exit the room, the monster’s yells causing Dean to curse himself over the unwanted attention he was undoubtedly attracting.  _

_ Once in the hallway, Dean heard a ‘thunk’ from somewhere near the kitchen. Realizing that’s where Sam had been headed when they first arrived, Dean decided to check on his brother first. _

_ He edged his way to the kitchen, remaining as silent as he could. The sound of his boots dully thudding on the floor was inevitable, but the sound was nearly drowned out by the werepire’s screams from the other room.  _

_ Finally making his way to the kitchen, he peered in through the cracked open door to find his little brother tied to a chair.  _

_ Dean backed up slightly to ensure he was out of anybody’s view before taking in the sight before him. Sam’s head hung low but his chest rose slowly, indicating that he had simply been knocked out. There were some smudges of blood near the base of his neck, but those were most likely from the blow that knocked him out. Dean scanned his brother once more and breathed a silent sigh of relief when Sam seemed void of any other injuries. _

_ What did cause some panic, however, was that there was a man and two women pacing around Sam. They kept looking at each other and glancing towards the door, most likely worried that whoever caused their friend’s distress would come crashing in. Luckily, they didn’t seem like they were planning to attack Sam.  _

_ Since it didn’t look as though his little brother was in immediate danger, Dean silently made his way to the basement to gather Cas and Jack. He winced as the door creaked open before rushing quietly down the stairs.  _

_ Dean was halfway down the stairs when he realized the werepire’s screaming had stopped. He checked behind him to make sure he wasn’t about to be punted down the stairs by a very angry werepire before he finished his descent. _

_ Once in the basement, he saw that Castiel and Jack were checking on and healing all the missing kids. Hearing footfalls, the two angels turned quickly, their stances relaxing upon seeing it was Dean.  _

_ “Dean!” Jack exclaimed in a hushed voice, rushing over to hug the rough hunter.  _

_ “We heard the gunshots and yelling, what happened?” Castiel asked worriedly as Jack pulled away from the embrace. The angel rushed over and placed two fingers on Dean’s forehead to see if he was injured; he was content to find that the hunter was okay.  _

_ “These aren’t normal werewolves. And it’s not another Nachzehrer nest, either. The fang types are slightly different and so are the eyes. They’re definitely, wait for it,” Dean paused, a shit-eating grin on his face, “werepires.”  _

_ Jack didn’t react, seeing as he had gone back to tending to the captives and therefore wasn’t fully paying attention, but Castiel simply rolled his eyes.  _

_ “Where’s Sam?” The fallen angel asked, pointedly ignoring the last part of what Dean had said. Jack  _ **_did_ ** _ look up at this, traces of anxiety evident on his young features.  _

_ “He’s tied up in the kitchen and there’s three of ‘em -- or, at least I assume they’re werepires -- surrounding him. They knocked him out but didn’t seem ready to attack just yet.  _

_ “But that’s where you come in: I can’t kill ‘em. We left our machetes in the Impala and these bullets do nothing to ‘em,” Dean explained, gesturing to his usually trustworthy gun with annoyance.  _

_ “I’ll handle it. Jack, stay down here and heal the rest of the survivors.” Jack nodded his head as Dean towed Castiel to the stairs. Before he could go up the steps, Cas stopped him with a hand firmly pressed to the hunter’s chest. _

_ “You’re staying here, too. Keep an eye on Jack,” Cas demanded before leaving in a ruffle of wings.  _

_ Dean rolled his eyes; there was no way in hell he was letting his best friend fight those monsters alone. Especially if his little brother’s life was on the line. Plus, Jack would be fine without him -- he was Lucifer’s kid, not the Dean particularly liked to remind himself of that, but that meant that he was perfectly capable of smiting a few werepires if they were to appear. _

_ “Jack, stay down here,” Dean said. Jack nodded his head just as he had to Cas before returning his attention to one of the hurt kids.  _

_ “You’ll be okay.” Dean faintly heard Jack’s sweet voice reassure one of the captives as he went upstairs, his gun drawn with a new clip.  _

_ He knew silver bullets would do absolutely nothing other than  _ **_maybe_ ** _ slow them down, but it was a habit of safety nonetheless. He would much rather enter a fight with a weapon in his hand than nothing at all.  _

_ Dean reached the top of the stairs and pushed the door open. He checked the left, then the right side of the hallway; seeing he was in the clear, he stepped through the threshold only to be startlingly sent flying down the stairs by a kick aimed right at his chest.  _

_ He gasped upon landing on the concrete floor at the bottom of the staircase, the air escaping his lungs almost immediately as a resounding crack could be heard from  _ **_somewhere_ ** _ on Dean (the hunter, for the moment, wasn’t quite sure from where). His left leg, which had twisted horribly on the way down, began to ache dully both in the knee and the ankle. And his  _ **_head_ ** _ \-- it must’ve bounced off the stairs so many times he was lucky to even be conscious, the impact from which made his head feel like it was stuffed with tissue paper. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears and his neck ached something fierce as he moved his head around in an attempt to see up the stairs. His eyes, blurred and unfocused, then searched the room quickly to see if his attacker had come to finish the job. _

_ Once he noticed he was in the clear he clenched his eyes shut for a moment, seeing as their blurriness was only proving to make him nauseous. He willed his lungs to work again, which took more effort than it should have, and then opened his eyes; the rest of his injuries he would deal with later. _

_ Jack was staring at him once he finally sat up.  _

_ “Dean?” He asked worriedly, his voice sounding muffled to Dean. “Would you like me to heal you?” The hunter spared a glance at Jack to find that his hand was already outstretched.  _

_ “No, kid, I’m alright. I gotta help Cas save Sam,” Dean muttered, his stubbornness persisting despite his injuries. Jack frowned but turned and continued to heal the final kid. _

_ When he stood, he felt suspiciously fine which was a sure sign that he was going to feel like absolute shit later. For the moment, he used that adrenaline to focus on his goal: Saving Sam. _

_ So once again he climbed the stairs and, rather than try to act stealthily, busted through the doorway, filling the werepire who had kicked him with bullets.  _

_ It slowed the monster down briefly, giving the older Winchester enough time to rush to the kitchen.  _

_ He changed out his clip -- clicking the final one in place -- and readied his useless weapon as he crept outside the kitchen door. He could hear yells and grunts from the fight Castiel had started, luckily none of which sounded like they were coming from his brother or best friend. But his worry peaked when he looked around the corner, finding a bloodied and tired Castiel. _

_ He watched nervously as the angel swayed on his feet and sloppily punched at his attackers, who were now sensing his weakness. _

_ As the yelps of pain from the werepires turned more into angry growls, followed by a short grunt of pain from a now-conscious Sam as one of them dragged their claws down his chest, Dean figured it was the opportune time to bust into the room.  _

_ “Sammy!” Dean exclaimed, seeing the oozing gash across his chest.  _

_ Castiel had been knocked down just as Dean entered so the elder Winchester was quick to put a bullet in the eye of each monster, hoping that the temporary partial blindness would hurt and confuse them long enough for the three to escape.  _

_ Seeing his plan had worked, he whipped out his knife to quickly cut Sam free. Next, he rushed over to Cas and helped him to his feet, frowning worriedly at the way the angel stumbled. He then guided the two out of the kitchen and to the front door where Jack was waiting with everyone he and Cas had healed.  _

_ “Let’s get outta this hellhole,” Dean said gruffly as he rushed the kids out, followed by Jack, and then he, Sam, and Cas.  _

_ Once at the Impala, Dean grabbed a machete -- hoping that  _ **_that_ ** _ would be sufficient -- and went back inside to take out the whole nest.  _

Dean inwardly grimaced as the headache surrounding his memories settled in. Apparently his injuries  _ were _ that bad, and perhaps he shouldn’t be driving. But was he going to admit that? Absolutely not. Though he would admit that being kicked down the stairs by an angry hybrid in the middle of a hunt certainly had not been the highlight of his day. 

He took a sip of the coffee Sam had bought him from the unnecessarily expensive café in an attempt to clear his thoughts and dull his headache. The caffeine and warmth of the coffee certainly made it easier for him to focus, but the thrumming in his head persisted. 

He was quite thankful two hours later when the bunker finally came into view, allowing his mind to drift from the aching in his body. He pulled up to the building, the Impala’s brakes squealing to a halt before Dean put the vehicle in park and turned it off. 

Getting out, he used the door to steady himself but only for a brief moment so as to not draw suspicion. He then walked as normally as possible to the trunk so he could gather his and Sam’s hunting bags; since Sam was injured  _ and _ had bought Dean coffee, he decided to be a nice big brother and carry his bag, too.

“Once we’re inside, heal him,” Dean told Cas as he walked past him towards the door.

Before walking in, he glanced back to see the three others were seemingly busy talking amongst themselves, so he took their distraction as the perfect opportunity to hobble his way painfully down the stairs before the others could see.

Once inside the bunker he set his and Sam’s hunting gear down on the map table. He then limped his way to his room, allowing his tired mind to dance happily from each possibility of how he could unwind. As per usual he settled on the idea of getting a beer (or three) then sleeping for as long as his fucked up sleep schedule allowed.

~~~

Dean had just barely made it back to his room with an ice-cold beer in hand when Castiel barged in. 

“Hello to you, too,” Dean greeted annoyedly when the door banged against the wall upon the angel’s arrival, forming a little dent from where the handle made impact. Dean set his beer down on his desk, stubbornly refusing to spare a second glance at Cas, then sat on the edge of his bed to take off his boots. He held back a grunt as he bent down to undo his laces, but couldn’t hush the hiss that escaped his mouth when he removed the boot on his left foot.

“You were reckless today, Dean,” Cas chided. Dean couldn’t hold back the need to roll his eyes in a rather childish manner. 

“This whole  _ job _ is reckless, Cas! There’s nothing safe about hunting.” Now it was Cas’ turn to roll his eyes. 

“You’re missing the point. You got injured because you wanted to save Sam yourself, even though the logical option would have been to stay with Jack,” Castiel replied in utter exasperation. 

“What would’ve happened if I  _ hadn’t _ been there, Cas? You were in way over your head! And in the end, Sam got more injured because of it,” Dean argued. Lately, he and Cas seemed to argue after every hunt about what was usually the same subject matter: Dean was too reckless; too stubborn; too vulnerably  _ human _ . He was getting real tired of the repetition, especially because Cas was often just as reckless; stubborn; vulnerable in his own way. 

“I would have been fine,” Cas said stubbornly. Dean scoffed.

“Like hell, you would’ve. They were two seconds away from killing Sam and doing God knows what to you,” Dean snapped, his eyes returning to his boots. Working the one on his right foot off was proving to be much easier, seeing as that leg hadn’t been busted up when he took the fall.

Cas sighed, almost as if admitting defeat but the two knew that wasn’t what he was doing. He was still pissed at Dean but that didn’t mean the latter shouldn’t be healed. 

“Jack is currently healing Sam. Let me heal  _ you _ ,” Cas said softly, the phrase becoming a momentary peace offering. Dean didn’t say anything and simply nodded his head before laying back on his bed. He hissed as his injured leg stretched out and his eyes were met with the harsh lighting from above. 

Castiel winced when he laid his hands on Dean, immediately feeling the pain run into his veins and then disappear altogether due to his Grace. Dean sighed contentedly, his eyes fluttering shut as Castiel soothed all of his aches. 

“How does that feel?” Cas asked, looking at Dean. He sighed but was glad nonetheless when he noticed that Dean had drifted off to sleep. He moved away from his peaceful form and laid his trench coat over him as a blanket since Dean was currently on top of his. Cas then smiled softly at the hunter -- despite his previous inclination to remain mad at him -- and silently left towards the door. “Goodnight, Dean,” he said softly before closing the mahogany with a soft click and walking away.


	2. Bloodbath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little shorter, but I hope y'all like it!  
> Also, I don't really have an update schedule so some chapters will come pretty quick and others might take a bit longer; depends on the contents of the chapter and whatnot.

There is perhaps no worse feeling than waking as stiff as a board. And, well, Dean was rediscovering that idea when he woke up after having slept in the same position all night, his jeans proving to be the most uncomfortable pair of pants on Earth and his limbs feeling like they were connected to his body with rusty screws. 

He stretched out his arms and wiggled a bit in an attempt to rid himself of the stiff feeling. He then rolled over in his bed with much more effort than it should have taken and blindly grasped for his phone on the nightstand. When his fingers brushed against nothing but the polished wood, he sighed annoyedly, his eyes cracking open in a glare at the inanimate object. His gaze then shifted to the numbers of his obnoxiously bright alarm clock. He groaned upon seeing  _ 03:27 _ blinking slowly in red, feeling as though the numbers were daunting him. He was awake before the damn  _ sun _ and his body ached something fierce.  _ What a wonderful way to start the day _ , Dean thought sourly. 

He flicked the covers off of him -- or, trenchcoat? -- and stood on swaying legs. He picked up the heavy fabric from his bed and ran his fingers over the collar, smiling to himself as he did so. For a reason unbeknownst to him, seeing that Cas had decided to cover Dean with his trenchcoat made a warm feeling spread from his chest to his fingertips. Gently, the hunter rolled up the fabric and placed it back on his bed beside his pillow, the soft smile from earlier still on his face as he did so. 

Dean’s stomach gave a sudden lurch as he straightened up to take a step, his eyes becoming unfocused for a moment. He walked a few wobbly steps and reached out for his desk chair to steady himself. With his eyes closed and his teeth clenched, he willed himself to focus on just his breathing. In for four seconds, out for eight. He repeated the exercise until he felt a bit more steady and a bit more grounded. 

Opening his eyes after a moment of reluctance, he was relieved to see the world had righted itself. He then raked across the room for quite literally any pair of pants that  _ weren’t _ jeans. After a moment, his eyes landed on a pair of sweatpants that he had tossed to the corner of his room a few days ago. He picked up the worn-out fabric, gave it a sniff, and then decided they would suffice, gladly peeling off his far too uncomfortable jeans from the day before and trading them in for the soft pants. 

Once he was changed, he went to leave and saw his phone next to an unopened beer on the desk by his door. Shrugging at the convenience, he pocketed his phone and took the warm beer with him, opening it as he headed for the kitchen. If he was going to be up  _ before _ the ass-crack of dawn, he sure as hell was gonna eat something.

Once in the kitchen he took a swig of his beer -- cringing slightly -- and opened the fridge. He pulled ingredients and meats out greedily since he was now beginning to realize just how hungry he was. The last thing he had eaten was yesterday afternoon -- a burger and a slice of cherry pie -- just before they left for the hunt. 

“Dean?” A familiar, gruff voice asked from behind him. In his sleepiness, Dean had been startled just enough that the jar of pickles he was holding slipped from his fingers, crashing abruptly in one big mess on the ground. Dean frowned. 

“Dammit,” he muttered, stepping away from the broken glass, ruined pickles, and copious amounts of pickle juice. 

“Sorry,” Castiel said softly after a beat. He walked towards the mess and bent down, picking up the glass and disposing of it before using his grace to make the rest of the mess disappear. He then stood up to face Dean, brushing himself off as he did. 

“How are you feeling?” Cas questioned, fixing Dean with his usual inquisitive look: Furrowed brow, slight head tilt, and searching eyes.

“Hungry,” Dean replied grumpily, glaring at the spot on the floor where the pickles had met their ultimate demise. 

“ _ Dean _ ,” Cas pressed, his voice pitched in a tone of irritation. 

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Dean remarked, putting all of the food on the counter as he made his way towards the pantry for some bread. As he returned, he added, “I assume you had somethin’ to do with that?”

“Well, yes, but--”

“Then why’re you asking?” Dean snapped, slamming the bread on the counter and looking at Cas. “I’m.  _ Fine _ . Feel better than fine.”

“Why are you awake so early?” Cas was worried, Dean could tell that much, but he didn’t need  _ or  _ want the angel to worry; they had bigger fish to fry, seeing as werepires were a thing now. And while that was cool as hell, Dean was now willing to admit that it was an issue they needed to fix before it got any bigger.

“Hunter’s circadian rhythm,” Dean joked sourly. Seeing the look on Cas’ face, he clarified, “I don’t  _ know _ .” Dean dragged a hand down his face and then placed it delicately on the counter, splaying his fingers as he leaned forward a little. “All I know right now is that it’s early as hell and I’m  _ hungry _ , so, please, Cas, either make yourself a sandwich or leave me alone.”

Cas’ lips turned down in a slight frown and he looked away from Dean. The expression on the angel’s face was enough for Dean to realize that maybe, just maybe, he was being a dick.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he sighed, sounding defeated. Seeing the resigned look on Castiel’s face, he followed up his admittedly half-assed apology with, “look, thanks for healing me yesterday, but right now I’m just not in the mood to discuss how I’m feeling or whatever.”

“It’s okay, Dean.” The hunter’s heart clenched ever so slightly as Cas simply turned and left the kitchen, leaving him alone with the array of food he no longer was hungry enough to eat. 

~~~

When it was later in the day, at a time when people  _ should _ be awake and not 3-in-the-fucking-morning, Sam rushed into the library -- laptop open -- and all but collapsed into a chair at the table where Jack and Dean were sitting. 

“Guys, I found something… weird,” he began. Dean gave him a look to continue so he did, “so get this: 3 people were found dead yesterday morning. The weird thing? Their hearts were missing and their limbs had been removed,” he paused as he scrolled, then he read, “‘the victims, all Wichita natives, were found within the same 5-mile radius, all with their hearts removed through varying means. 27-year-old Johnny Kane was found with a hole punched through his chest, while the other two victims, Susan Langdon and Danny Seo, seemingly had their chests cut open and their heart removed surgically. Forensics reported late last night that the victims’ limbs, which were found scattered around the crimes scenes, had been removed  _ after _ death.’” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Dean questioned after a moment, his face twisted up in confusion. “First of all; gross. And second of all; how is this our kind of case?”

“Because, Dean,” Sam began as if he were about to state the obvious. “There were burn marks on the tissue at the point of entry on the victims which suggests it was a Nogitsune; not to mention these deaths were just random and barbaric enough that it fits the pattern of a chaotic fox-spirit.” Sam paused for a moment and then fixed Dean and Jack with a concerned look. “But what’s confusing is there was a report filed just this morning that about a block away from each victim was a pile of human flesh, none of which matched the DNA of the victims.”

“So- you- I’m sorry, what?” Dean repeated, completely dumbfounded. “First werepires, now, what? Nogitshifters? Shiftsunes? What the hell is going on?!”

“I don’t know, Dean, but this has gotta be our type of case.” Dean just sighed and dragged an exasperated hand down his face. 

“Alright, meet me at the Impala in 15,” he said defeatedly. Jack got up with a bright smile on his face, closing the book he had been reading with a loud ‘thud’ as he did.

“I’ll go tell Castiel!” He turned to leave then stopped and said to Dean with a thoughtful look on his face, “I think Shiftsune sounds good.” Dean smiled despite himself and got up to get ready.

~~~

“You know, there’s something that’s bothering me about all of this,” Dean began once they were all in the Impala. “How the hell do you create a hybrid out of a benevolent fox spirit and a creature that constantly changes appearance? I didn’t think Nogitsunes were into possession of supernatural creatures.”

“It  _ is _ possible,” Cas stated simply from the backseat. Dean looked over his shoulder at him.

“Care to elaborate?” Dean pressed.

“It’s just that it’s difficult. It would require a ridiculously high level of magic, which means whatever witch or warlock that has been behind the hybrids has to be incredibly old and powerful.”

“What’s the spell do?” Sam questioned, his brow creased in worry. 

“It binds the spirit to the soul of the being it’s possessing and keeps it trapped there. So once the Nogitsune possessed the shapeshifter, the witch or warlock was able to bind them together,” Cas explained.

“Wait, I thought you said you haven’t seen any type of non-Nephilim hybrid before -- aside from that Jesse kid, of course. How do you know so much?” Dean accused. His gaze flicked from the road to the rearview mirror so he could lock eyes with Cas; he saw the angel frowning at him. 

“I  _ haven’t _ ,” he began irritatedly. “It’s all in theory. God never wanted hybrids so he made their existence nearly impossible. Of course, with Nephilim, that’s a different case that He hadn’t counted on seeing as He never believed any of the Host would defy Him. And Jesse was… a unique occurrence.” There was a beat of heavy silence in the Impala following Castiel’s words. 

Then it dawned on Sam, “could all of this be Eve’s doing? I mean, she  _ did _ try to create hybrids when she busted out of Purgatory.”

“Who’s Eve?” Jack questioned.

“She’s your crazy cousin. She created some of the first supernatural creatures, such as the cuddly Leviathan. She used to live oh-so comfortably in Purgatory but we toasted her ass a while ago,” Dean explained. 

“Unless she’s somehow still alive, it can’t be her,” Castiel stated matter-of-factly. “Even if she was alive and out of Purgatory, why would she tamper with beings who already exist? Wouldn’t she just create hybrids from scratch?”

Dean rolled the idea over in his head. He hated not knowing who they were going up against, especially in situations like these where it was now obvious that the “cool werepire problem” had adapted into a much bigger, pain-in-the-ass issue.

“Well, first things first we find out where our pal, the Shiftsune, came from and hopefully we can get some answers outta him. Or it. Whatever.” Dean then muttered something about wishing they were back in the good ole’ days of thinking  _ demons _ were a big deal. 

As they passed a sign that read “Wichita, 50 Miles” Dean turned up the music and drummed lightly on his steering wheel as  _ Wheel in the Sky _ by Journey started playing.

~~~

They had already talked to the police  _ and  _ the friends and families of the victims, yet at the end of the day, Team Free Will had exactly zero leads. 

While Jack and Cas used their angel mojo to quickly search the area, Dean let his aggravation be known the second he and Sam got to the motel. He flopped on his bed face down with a grunt of annoyance and closed his eyes. 

“We’ll find something,” Sam reassured when he saw the state of his brother. Dean simply snorted. 

“How? When another person winds up dead? Fat load of good that’ll do,” Dean said, his voice sounding muffled from the pillow he had shoved his face into. 

He heard Sam sigh and shift a little in his seat. Dean turned his head to look at his brother, frowning softly when he saw his look of defeat. Dean realized then that maybe Sam had been trying to reassure  _ himself _ . In an attempt to cheer up his little brother, Dean tried his best for optimism, “look, you’re right. We’ll do what we always do, okay? We don’t give up until we catch the person behind all of this. And that  _ includes _ the Shiftsune. Family business and all that, remember?”

Sam nodded his head and smiled half-heartedly at his brother. He looked like he wanted to say something else but he was interrupted by the door swinging open, followed by a frantic looking Jack. 

“Castiel -- he found something,” he stated.

“Well, great, where is he?” Sam asked as he stood up. Jack looked as though he was searching for the right words to explain, but settled on simply grabbing the two Winchesters by the arms and flying them to where Cas was. 

Upon landing, Dean immediately grabbed onto Sam for balance. He would never get used to being zapped places. 

“A little warning next time, kid,” Dean groaned as he willed the world to stop spinning for the second time that day. 

“Dean…” Sam breathed out beside him, his voice pitched in what sounded like disbelief.

“What?” Dean asked. When he looked up, his eyes widened at the sight. 

Before them was a mass grave. Hundreds of bodies dumped carelessly into one big pit; Castiel was walking around to examine a few before he joined the group. 

“Cas, what the hell did you find? I mean, how the hell…” Dean trailed off, not quite sure what questions he should be asking. “Are they human?” He settled on. 

“No,” Castiel’s face was unreadable, but there was a pool of worry in his eyes as he said, “they’re what we were here to hunt -- they’re Shiftsunes.”


	3. As Above, So Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I followed all of the cop procedure type stuff from Supernatural cause I don't really know how all that works, so it will most likely not be accurate at all haha  
> Also, I dropped a few references to two other shows in here (one reference is way more obvious than the other) so comment if you found them! :)  
> Enjoy!

The car ride back to the bunker was silent. The radio was uncharacteristically off, providing an uneasy feeling to settle into Team Free Will. The only hum that could be heard for the entire two and a half-hour drive was the Impala’s beautiful engine as Dean drove all too quickly back home. 

After scoping out the sight where the Shiftsunes had been dumped, the four decided to hightail it back to the bunker in case whoever made the failed hybrids was still lurking. The last thing they needed amidst their current confusion was to be faced with an unplanned attack.

Once they reached their destination and the Impala had been parked, no one talked. No one even  _ moved _ for at least five minutes. They were left somewhat speechless, to say the least. Locked in a state of confusion and worry about what they were getting themselves into. 

Dean had seen mass graves before; or, at least, it was something similar enough. In Hell. 

When he got off the rack, he was told by Alistair that he was to dispose of the tortured souls at the end of each day. At first, Dean had wanted to question it, but given this was  _ Hell _ and he was talking with  _ Alistair _ , he wisely decided against it. Instead, he followed out his orders -- orders that chipped away at his already frayed soul.

And by the end of each day, he did as he had been instructed. Each soul was tossed into the swirling orange, piled up high in one great big inferno where they would be burnt to a crisp before they were reassembled and magically put back in place for the next round of torture. The stink of burning flesh and the ringing sound of dry screams haunted him  _ always _ .

He had simply been one of the lucky souls -- which is ironic considering he had been in Hell -- who never reached the inferno. He’d burned,  _ oh _ he burned. But not like that.

But _this_? This was different. It hadn’t looked like the Shiftsunes had been tortured and then thrown to the flames. Rather it looked like they were part of some messed up science experiment; tossed aside into a giant, soon-to-be-burned pit for disposal. 

The being behind all of this had to be seriously dark and twisted. Meddling with supernatural creatures in an attempt to make, what? A super army? And with what motive; destroy humanity just ‘cause? 

And of course, Dean, Cas, Sam, and Jack had the pleasure of plopping themselves right in the middle of this fucked up mess in an attempt to stop it from escalating  _ more _ . Dean would rather listen to Celine Dion on repeat than have to deal with some psychotic being who played Little Alchemy with monsters.

To vaguely vent out his frustrations, Dean grumbled about it the whole way to the bunker door and down the stairs. 

Sam glanced at his brother weirdly when he heard him mutter something about their faceless villain “trying to make an evil Avatar or some shit” but decided it was in his best interest to not comment on it.

Once inside the bunker, Sam and Jack went to the library to read up on any mentions of magic potent enough to create hybrids. They figured that whoever was attempting to make new monsters had succeeded once with the werepires, so one failure would doubtfully stop them from trying different hybrid combinations. 

The whole situation was enough to give Dean a raging headache. He sat down heavily in the front room of the bunker, leaning on the map table as he rubbed tirelessly at his eyes. 

“Are you okay, Dean? Or are you still ‘fine’?” Castiel’s voice questioned, coming from behind him. Dean simply let out a humourless chuckle at Cas’ sass before remembering the likely reason the angel was being so short with him.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you this morning,” Dean said much more genuinely than he had earlier in the day. Cas smiled softly at Dean’s apology, but the hunter couldn’t tell if all was truly forgiven. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t even know what’s going on here, let alone what to do about it.”

“It’s okay, Dean--”

“But is it? Is it  _ really _ ? We don’t know what we’re doin’ here, Cas; what happens when the next batch is successful?” Dean let out a stressed sigh and allowed his posture to soften. “I’m worried, Cas. Beating Amara? Lucifer? Azazel? At least we knew who we were dealin’ with -- right now we got nothin’.”

Castiel walked towards Dean and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The hunter tensed for a moment, then relaxed under the steady pressure. It may sound silly, but the simple gesture was enough to keep him grounded. It was momentary comfort, but it was keeping him from spinning out completely. It served its purpose in reminding him that he wasn’t alone in this fight; that while he may tend to get pissed off and act like a martyr, he didn’t  _ have _ to. Everyone was stressed and  _ everyone  _ was trying to figure out what the hell was going on. The world wasn’t resting on just his shoulders like good ole Dad so kindly tried to make him believe. It was on Sam’s and Jack’s and Cas’ -- on every damn hunters’ who was out there trying to make sense of this new situation, too.

“We’ll find a way, Dean,” came Castiel’s oddly soothing voice. “And we’ll find out who’s behind all of this. But in the meantime, you need to get some rest. You’ve been working for  _ hours _ .”

Dean looked up at Cas and smiled -- it was tired and lopsided, but it was a smile nonetheless. One that faded, however, when Dean met Cas’ eyes. The angel seemed to have a distant or sad -- Dean couldn’t quite tell -- accent to his usually intense deep blues.

“Cas? What’s going on?” Castiel removed his hand from Dean’s shoulder and took a step back. The hunter had to resist the urge to reach out and bring him closer again. 

“I’m returning to Heaven,” Cas stated slowly. Dean stood so suddenly at the simple statement he was surprised the chair he had been sitting in hadn’t fallen over.

“What? Why?”

“I need to figure out if the angels know anything. And, well, since my brothers and sisters are still mad at me about the Fall I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Castiel was frowning and Dean was surprised when he found that he had yet another urge to reach out and grab him. Only this time he just wanted to shake some sense into the angel; maybe yell at him a little. Tell him he was being stupid. But he swallowed those words and calmed himself ever so slightly.

“I’ll go with you,” Dean said stubbornly, taking a step towards Cas. The angel smiled but shook his head. 

“You can’t, Dean. I need to do this on my own. Besides, I don’t--” Castiel looked away as he cut himself off, the words  _ I don’t want you to get hurt _ dying on his tongue. Then his eyes settled on Dean’s duffle bag that had yet to be put away. “You need to stay here with Sam and Jack, anyways. Help them with their research and watch for any more hybrids.”

“But what about you? What am I supposed to do if something happens to you?” Dean hated how he sounded so much like a teenage girl at the moment but he was worried. He didn’t quite understand  _ why  _ he was so worried about the angel -- he’d gone off on far more dangerous missions alone before -- but he just  _ was _ . And he couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if Cas left by himself.

“I’ll be fine, Dean,” Cas said softly. 

“You always say that.”

“And I always am.” The two stared at each other in silence for a few moments before Dean looked down at his shoes. 

“Okay. Alright, I’ll stay here.” His voice sounded just as defeated as he felt. “But if you die out there, I’ll kill you,” Dean added sternly. 

“If I’m-- you can’t--?” Cas questioned, his head tilting in confusion. Dean huffed a laugh at the expression on his friend’s face. 

“Don’t ever change, buddy,” Dean said lightly as he pulled the angel in for a hug. Cas’ long arms automatically reached around Dean’s midsection, holding on tightly as if  _ Dean _ were the one going off on some solo hunt. The hunter relished in the feeling for as long as he could, letting his arms wind around Castiel’s shoulders easily. He rested his head near the crook of Cas’ neck, willing the feeling of dread that began to coil in the pit of his stomach to go away. Cas would be okay; he always was. 

Dean pulled away from the hug but kept Cas close. 

“Stay safe, alright? And call if you need anything, and I mean  _ anything _ ,” Dean told him. Cas nodded his head in understanding. 

Reluctantly, Dean withdrew his hand and let Cas climb the stairs to leave the bunker. With one last look before he closed the door, Castiel said, “I’ll be back soon.”

The metal door latched shut behind him, and Dean had a terrible feeling that he wouldn’t be.

~~~

“I got us a case,” Jack said when Dean entered the library. 

“More hybrids?” Dean questioned. He was glad the kid had found a case so soon; he wanted to bury himself in something that would force him to ignore the niggling feeling that Cas had been doomed the second he left.

“No, I’m thinking it might be demons,” Jack stated as he frowned at the news report on Sam’s laptop. “People reportedly disappearing for long periods only to return acting differently; power outages; weird sigils around town. Stuff like that.”

“Hm,” Dean hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds like demonic omens.”

“We should check it out,” Sam chimed in. “With no leads on  _ whoever _ is behind the hybrids, we’re no use just sitting with our thumbs up our asses. We still have a job to do.”

Dean sighed, knowing that Sam was right. He looked at Jack, then Sam, and said, “okay, fine. Where we headed?”

“Uh, Connecticut! Ellington, Connecticut to be exact.” Dean rolled his eyes. Dad had dragged them there on a case  _ years _ ago.

“Great. Cow-town.”

“Shut up, Dean, you  _ love _ cow-towns,” Sam stated playfully. He then looked around the room, as if searching for something. Once he couldn’t find whatever it was, his eyes settled on Dean as he asked, “where’s Cas?”

“He left,” Dean said simply. He couldn’t help keep the sour tone out of his voice. 

Sam fixed him with a confused look. “Did you guys fight or something?”

“No, nothin’ like that. He’s goin’ back to Heaven; tryna see if they have any clue as to what the hell is going on.” Dean sighed, dragging a hand down his face. That feeling of dread had persisted, and talking about Cas’ plans (and how Dean didn’t entirely know what they entailed) wasn’t exactly easing his worry.

“Will he be okay?” Jack asked with a concerned look -- all furrowed brow and a slight downward tilt to his lips -- as he closed Sam’s laptop and stood anxiously.

Dean’s heart clenched. He couldn’t tell Jack what he was  _ actually  _ thinking; that the man whom he had chosen as his father since  _ before _ he was even born could very well be heading into something dangerous. That Dean couldn’t stop feeling a coil of anxiety in the pit of his stomach because  _ something just didn’t feel right _ . 

So, rather than say all of that, he sighed and set Jack with a tired look as he repeated the phrase he had turned into a personal mantra, “he’ll be okay, kid. He’s Cas; he always is.”

~~~

The nearly 21-hour drive to Ellington, Connecticut was, to say the least, torturous. 

For starters, it took the three hunters a day and a half to even  _ reach  _ the small town, seeing as they had to make stops along the way. And then, to make matters worse, when they  _ did _ arrive in the Gilmore Girls-Esque town they were greeted by the strong smell of manure from one of the nearby farms.

“Man, I really hate this town,” Dean grumbled as he pulled up to the police station near the centre of town. Since they had already changed into their suits at one of their last stops, they decided that getting intel first was best.

“I like it. It seems nice,” Jack said with a smile as he looked around. He seemed to be soaking in the small-town peacefulness that Ellington radiated easily with its waving trees tinted golden by the sun. And as Jack got out of the Impala, he relished in the warm breeze that fluffed his hair lightly. He closed his eyes gently, feeling the calm of a town that seemed to remain friendly despite recent tragedies.

Dean rolled his eyes as he watched Jack bask in the sun, and got out of the Impala, Sam quickly following behind. Startled by the car doors slamming shut, Jack snapped his eyes open and jogged a bit to catch up with Sam and Dean as they headed towards the building.

The police station was small, but there was enough commotion inside that it somehow made the cramped space feel impossibly smaller. 

Dean’s eyes scanned the busy bullpen before he finally found a man sitting at a desk with a golden plaque that read “Sheriff Carter”. He nudged Sam and pointed, then led the way towards the Sheriff’s desk.

“Agents Peralta and Boyle, FBI. And this here is our trainee, Agent Way,” Dean said as the three of them flashed their badges. The Sheriff, seemingly overwhelmed, barely looked at them. 

“Thank you, boys, for comin’ out. We don’t usually see the feds roll in unless something big happens. And, well…” Sheriff Carter trailed off, leaning back in his desk chair with a sigh. He looked tired; the three empty coffee mugs next to his computer would agree. 

“What can you tell us about the victims?” Sam asked professionally, a look of empathy on his face. 

“There’s been four so far, but the most recent two are Amanda French and Gerard Evans. Both of ‘em are recently graduated high school students bound for college on full-rides. Hell, they both have a perfect record -- never even got detention, let alone arrested for anything. Then four nights ago they just  _ left _ . Damn near vanished off the face of the Earth. Everyone here had been workin’ overtime looking into their disappearance; we assumed that they had been kidnapped. Until recently, at least.” The Sheriff paused and raked a hand down his face, scrubbing at his stubble as if trying to figure out the situation in the midst of telling the story. He continued with, “both of ‘em returned last night. Only, according to their parents, they were different. Disrespectful, lashing out, violent -- the complete opposite of how they usually are.”

“And they came back by themselves? No signs of trauma or anything?” Dean questioned, playing along with the “kidnapped” scenario. 

“I wouldn’t say  _ no  _ trauma. Between you and me, there’s somethin’ messed up goin’ on with those kids.” The Sheriff leaned forward and said in a low voice, “It’s the same sort of thing we went through last week with two  _ different _ kids. I mean, the two of ‘em get back late at night and we wake up to homicide and a whole mess of weirdness across town.”

“What type of weirdness?” Jack questioned. 

“It was the same for both occurrences -- power outages, weird sigils on the churches in town, and the victim found with their throat cut; the autopsy report confirmed both times that they’d been bled dry.” The Sheriff leaned back and rubbed at his temples. “I know this might not seem like that big a case now that I’ve laid it out for ya, but in a quiet town like this?” The rest of his words hung in the air and Dean understood. 

“We’ll get right on it. Is there a motel nearby we could stay while we worked?” Dean questioned.

The Sheriff looked a bit relieved as he said, “yeah, take route 83 and follow it into the next town over. It’s about a ten-minute drive, but you’ll find a motel on your right.”

Sam, Dean, and Jack said a quiet thanks before heading back to the Impala. Once inside and back on the road, Dean recapped, “so we have four victims total, two from last week and two from this week. All of which were possessed by demons. But why? I mean, I know demons like to cause some trouble here and there, but there’s gotta be a reason why  _ multiple _ demons stuck around these past two weeks.”

“The Sheriff’s right, too; the two victims from last week? Nearly identical situation -- the two kids leave for four days and then return on that fourth night, followed by widespread weird occurrences the next morning,” Sam said as he scrolled through his phone, most likely looking at the news article from the previous week. 

“So, what’s our plan?” Jack asked.

“We return to the centre of town tonight and look into those sigils the Sheriff mentioned -- they’ve gotta be the key to whatever the hell is going on,” Dean replied. He was met with silent agreement, so he turned up the radio and let  _ Cold as Ice  _ by Foreigner carry them to the motel.

~~~

The day after he left, Castiel arrived at Heaven’s gate with an apprehensive expression on his face (or, as apprehensive as he could look given his generally stoic expression).

He thought it odd when he saw nobody was guarding the gate, so he freely stepped up to the sandbox. 

“Naomi? Dumah?” He called out at the sprawling lines drawn in the sand. Neither angel appeared when their names were called, nor did the gate open in an invitation for him to enter (not that he genuinely expected the latter situation, though). “I need to talk to you; it’s urgent!” He added. Nothing.

The minutes ticked by painfully slow and  _ still, _ no one showed up. Not even to smite him for daring to show his face or anything.

Until finally, just as he was debating heading back to the bunker, the unmistakable white swirl of Heaven’s gate opening alerted Castiel. 

He dropped his angel blade from his sleeve in case he was going to be greeted in a rather unfriendly way, and he waited for the angel to appear. 

Who greeted him was neither Dumah nor Naomi, but rather someone he had met only once or twice in passing; the angel who had wielded the flaming sword at the gates of the Garden of Eden. The only angel who had stood guard that -- God knows why (literally) -- hadn’t been imprisoned or killed for letting the Serpent in. 

“Good afternoon, Castiel,” the angel greeted in his gentle Welch accent, a brilliant smile on his face. 

“Hello, Aziraphale,” Castiel greeted, tucking the angel blade back up his sleeve. While he may not really  _ know _ Aziraphale, he knew that he was one of the least violent angels. 

“What brings you to Heaven’s gate?” He questioned, stepping down from the sandbox.

“I need to find out what Heaven knows about these hybrids. Surely someone knows  _ something _ . I was reluctant to come because I know I haven’t been in good standings with the angels for a while, but I figured Naomi or Dumah might have a clue,” Cas explained, sitting down on the park bench next to the gate. 

“About that, Castiel,” Aziraphale began as he sat beside Cas. He nervously fiddled with his bowtie for a minute before he set his hands in his lap. “Heaven knows what’s going on, but the angels are refusing to act.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked gruffly. He shouldn’t have been surprised -- Heaven had wanted the  _ apocalypse _ , after all -- but it still stung to know that Heaven hadn’t changed over the years. They were still willingly allowing destruction, costing countless humans their lives because there was a “bigger picture” or some other dumb reason that Cas didn’t want to hear.

“God left,” Aziraphale stated in a tone that almost sounded like mourning. “And the archangels, to our knowledge, are all gone. We’ve no one to lead us; no  _ orders _ . All we have are the few angels who have been willing to take charge. And because of that, there’s been no warning bells. No manual handed out entitled  _ What To Do When Evil Hybrids Rise _ . Heaven’s decidedly staying out of it, and in Naomi’s words, ‘letting the world end.’”

“But angels are supposed to be  _ warriors _ ,” Castiel stressed. “We may not always be in good standings with each other, but we were able to join forces against The Darkness despite the rise of factions -- what changed?”

“Oh, Castiel. You’ve been away for so long, haven’t you? The simple truth is there aren’t many of us left,” Aziraphale said sadly. “And as for being warriors? I’m afraid to admit that those days are behind us. Besides, you know me. I’ve never been much of a warrior; not even when I was in the garrison led by Gabriel, himself. Though he didn’t stick around long enough to lead us…” he trailed off.

“Do you at least know who’s making hybrids?” Castiel questioned hopelessly. Aziraphale looked as though he was debating his next words, which was a hopeful sign that Cas might get an answer. 

“I’ll tell you, but only if you promise to not involve Heaven. We’re in no condition to fight; not when our numbers are so low,” Aziraphale said, his tone oddly similar to that of a mother scolding a child. If Cas remembered correctly from their brief encounters, Aziraphale never was the best at sounding Biblically threatening. 

“I promise,” Castiel stated firmly. 

“Good,” Aziraphale paused, then said in a low voice, “her name is Aoife. No one has heard from her since the Early Middle Ages, and that’s because God locked her away after He found out what she had done. You remember, don’t you?”

“Yes, she turned her four step-children into swans using a Druid’s wand because she wanted King Lir’s love to herself,” Castiel stated, nearly verbatim from when he heard the story from Balthazar, who had been tasked with watching over Ireland at the time.

“God was at His cruellest during those times. So, upon hearing that someone had acted in a way similar to how Lucifer treated Him and humanity, He unleashed his rage upon Aoife. Locked her up and tossed away the key.” Castiel sat silently, absorbing Aziraphale’s words. 

“Why hybrids?” He asked after a beat. 

“We don’t know,” Aziraphale admitted. “We just know that she’s back and seems quite angry.” 

Castiel huffed a laugh at that; who  _ wouldn’t _ be angry after being locked in a cage for nearly two millennia?

“Well, thank you, Aziraphale, for the information. And the knowledge that not  _ all _ the angels hate me,” Castiel said as he stood up. 

“Yes, well, from what I’ve heard you and I are quite similar. After all, I’m no perfect angel myself. My best friend is a demon, and I’d rather Earth to Heaven any day. We became rebellious for differing reasons, but share a knack for rebelling nonetheless,” Aziraphale said, giving Cas a dazzling smile. The Seraphim chuckled and nodded his head, finding that he quite liked Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale then walked back to the sandbox and stood on the sigil. 

Before he ignited the carving, Cas stopped him with the question he had always wondered about the bowtied-angel, “why did God spare you?”

Aziraphale chuckled, then said, “why does God do anything He does? Such as put  _ you _ back together countless times? I assume I had a role He still needed me to fulfil.” Castiel nodded his head. Sounds like the type of mysterious and controlling thing God would do.

“Do be careful,” Aziraphale said a moment later with a worried tone. Castiel smiled at his sweetness. 

“I will try,” he stated. Then Aziraphale was engulfed in a swirling white and he was gone, leaving Castiel with a phone call to make.

~~~

On their way to the sigils, Dean struggled with his jean pocket as his phone buzzed aggressively against his thigh. Once he wrestled it free, he answered quickly and without looking at the caller ID in a hopeful assumption that it was Castiel with some good news. 

“Hello?”

“Dean,” Castiel said. “It’s Castiel.”

“Yeah, I know who you are, buddy,” Dean said lightly, relieved beyond belief to know that Cas was okay. “How did your talk with the dickbags go?”

“ _ Dean _ , don’t call them that,” Cas said in a warning tone. “It went well, though. I met with Aziraphale -- he’s one of the only good angels left. He informed me of the person behind the rise of hybrids but didn’t particularly say why.” When Cas stopped after that, Dean rolled his eyes at the seemingly intentional anticipation.

“Well, who is it?” The hunter pressed. 

“I can’t tell you over the phone; I don’t want any unwelcome ears to hear. Get back to the bunker as soon as you can and I will fill you in,” Castiel instructed. Dean sighed but knew that Cas was probably right.

“Will do. And Cas? Nice work, buddy,” Dean said before hanging up. 

They pulled up to the church a moment after the call ended. Once they parked Dean filled Sam and Jack in about what Cas said. 

“At least we’ll finally find out who’s behind all this,” Sam said in relief. 

“Damn right,” Dean muttered as he got out of the Impala and headed towards the trunk. 

He popped it open and got out all the demon-hunting supplies they would need -- flashlights, angel blades, holy water, and the devil’s trap engraved bullets -- then locked up the Impala. 

Scoping out the church for what felt like forever, judging by how the night progressed from dark to pitch black, they were finding that they  _ couldn’t _ find any of the sigils the Sheriff had mentioned. 

“Maybe it was painted over?” Jack offered. Dean and Sam shrugged as they continued to search. 

“Or maybe it was just bullshit,” Dean muttered in annoyance as he checked behind some bushes.

“Someone put on their thinkin’ cap today,” a familiar voice stated behind the three boys.

They whipped around and were met face-to-face with Sheriff Carter. His eyes blackened as he flicked his wrist, sending all three hunters into the stone wall of the church. They groaned but recomposed themselves quickly (Jack quicker than either of the Winchesters, naturally). 

“What the hell do you want?” Sam grunted as he stood and readied his gun. 

“I don’t  _ want _ anything. I’m just simply havin’ some fun before the world ends, is all,” the demon said with a twisted smile. “And I just so happen to be the demon lucky enough to attract the  _ Winchesters’ _ attention.”

“I don’t think lucky is the word you should use, pal,” Dean said as he rushed at the demon, angel blade clenched in his hand. 

The demon, luckily for Dean, didn’t seem to be more than just your regular, run of the mill black-eyed son of a bitch. This made the fight fairly equal -- they both landed some decent punches here and a few jabs there. But where the demon  _ didn’t  _ have a fault was stamina. After absorbing a few hardy punches, Dean was becoming (obviously) tired, and the demon was beginning to realize that fact. Noticing an opening in Dean’s side, the demon took advantage of the hunter’s tiredness and sent him flying a few feet away with a well-aimed kick.

Dean groaned as he thudded against the ground awkwardly, his shoulder skidding against the parking lot’s gravel. His side was already beginning to ache but he brushed off the feeling and stood with an intent to make a move on the demon. However, before he could do anything Jack was already making a move of his own.

Using his powers, he stilled the demon (who was growing quite frustrated), buying just enough time for Sam to get a shot off, successfully trapping the demon in place with a devil’s trap engraved bullet. Jack then lowered his hands and released his hold on the demon. 

“You couldn’t’ve done that in the first place?” Dean groaned as he rejoined Jack and Sam. 

Jack simply shrugged. “You ran at him before I could.”

“What did you mean when you said ‘before the world ends’?” Sam questioned the demon, taking out his angel blade and walking towards it. 

“We're all preparing. As a matter o’ fact, Hell’s been having a fucking  _ feast _ . The witch behind all of this? Oh, Sammy, she means business. Lucifer? Abaddon? Crowley? They were all weak sons of bitches. But this witch? She’s guaranteed to bring us the one thing those jackasses never could -- for your kind to  _ burn _ ,” it spat, a cackle bubbling from its throat. Sam, Dean, and Jack shared a brief look.

“What witch? What’s her name?” Dean demanded, taking a step forward with his angel blade at the ready. 

“Aoife,” it stated casually. “No use in keeping it a secret -- you’re all gonna be blessed to die by her hands.” 

“What, so you and your other demon buddies have just been possessing the poor bastards of this town in  _ honour _ of this Aoife chic?” Dean questioned angrily, his knuckles clenching around his blade.

“Why, of course,  _ Dean _ . And this town? By  _ far _ the juiciest meat suit farm there is. So many desperate souls wanting to get outta here -- go do ‘big things’ and so on. So my buddies hitched a ride, raised a lil’ hell, and hit the road. They’re  _ long gone _ , Dean-o, and they ain’t comin’ back. Too busy revelling in the end times.” Dean so desperately wanted to wipe the wide grin off the demon’s face but he held back for the moment. Instead, he settled for whitening his knuckles on his angel blade and clenching his jaw shut.

“What, not gonna comment on that, Dean? Don’t have a snide remark for me?” The demon pressed as another cackle spilt out of him. “Or maybe you’re just growing soft. Don’t have the guts to kill a demon anymore, do you? Not now that you’ve started to  _ love _ someone,” the demon continued, a few hints of its previous laughter weaving an air of amusement into its words. Now  _ that _ hit a nerve. The demon was testing him -- Dean recognized that -- and he didn’t care for it. So, in a burst of anger and annoyance, Dean plunged the blade into the demon’s heart. 

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed as he watched it spark out and fall to the ground. “It coulda told us more!”

“We have all we need, Sammy. The demon’s buddies are long gone, and Cas already said he knew who the witch was -- maybe he knows a bit more about who she was before she turned sour. If she was ever  _ not _ sour, that is,” Dean explained. Sam seemed like was going to potentially argue but he relented and nodded his head. 

The three then shoved the Sheriff’s body into the trunk of the Impala to deal with along the way home, returned to the motel to pack, and then hauled ass back to the bunker.

The ride back was quiet until Sam, being the annoyingly observant little brother he is, asked, “what did the demon mean when he said you were beginning to love someone?”

“Nothing, Sammy. Demons lie all the time. It was probably just tryna make me feel weak or somethin’,” Dean responded. Even  _ he _ would admit that excuse sounded like absolute bullshit.

There were a few more moments of silence in the Impala before Sam cheekily asked, “why wasn’t Cas wearing his trenchcoat today?”

Dean shot a glare at his brother -- a silent threat of “shut the hell up, or else” being successfully delivered -- and then he reached for the volume dial, drowning the car in his favourite Bon Jovi album.

~~~

Cas pulled up in front of the bunker and sighed when he noticed the Impala was still missing -- an indicator that Dean, Jack, and Sam still were not back from their hunt.

Not particularly feeling up to waiting outside all night, he put his truck in park before getting out and began making his way towards the bunker door. As soon as he reached for the handle he was grabbed from behind, his hands quickly restrained by what felt like Enochian cuffs.

Despite being powerless, he struggled in the person’s kick until he was able to aim a heavy kick backwards against his potential kidnapper. When he heard a grunt and felt the grip on his hands loosen, he twirled around and headbutted the man who had bound him. The man staggered, giving Cas just enough time to get past him.

He tried to run for his truck, seeing as he didn’t want to unlock the bunker in the presence of an enemy, but was tackled to the ground only two steps later by someone else. 

He felt a weight on his back and then a tickle at his neck as a spell was whispered into his ear. He struggled against his attacker and fought off the sleepy feeling that slowly darkened his vision. In the end, his defiance was proven to be futile. His mind surrendered to the spell and he was taken off into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I set the town for the case like the one I grew up in cause when supernatural had one (1) episode set in Connecticut it was set in the super-rich part and it made me sad. So, I felt the need to add some farm-town!Connecticut representation in here haha (but realistically Connecticut is one of the worst states in my opinion; I advise that you stay away lol)
> 
> Also, it feels like I was working on this chapter for like 12 years haha. I proof-read it so many times and added things to the point where it skyrocketed from about 3000 words to 5000+ words. My eyes are TIRED. But, honestly, this was a fun chapter to write :) 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Drop a comment if there's something I can improve on, or if you just simply wanted to share your opinions :)


	4. Aoife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update!  
> We had a storm recently and I had only been halfway through writing this chapter when we lost power for a few days :/  
> But, when we finally got power back I worked on this chapter any chance I could haha.  
> It is currently 1 a.m. so I'm gonna go sleep for like 20 hours, but I hope you enjoy!  
> Also, slight content warning: some graphic depictions of blood/torture (towards the end of the chapter)

Dean couldn’t decide whether he was furious or devastated upon seeing Cas’ empty truck parked in front of the bunker -- driver’s side door wide open -- with drag marks across the dirt. The most worrying aspect was that there didn’t appear to be signs of struggle. Some gouges in the dirt by the door suggested a potential fight there, but nothing else.

At first, Dean wasn’t quite sure what to make of the image before him. His first thought went against his better judgement, which was that Cas was okay. Of course, he was okay. But there was too much evidence that hinted that no, no he  _ wasn’t _ . And that scared the hell out of him.

That twisted feeling he had before Cas left the bunker -- the one that had been replaced with utter relief when Cas called earlier -- came back tenfold. But he quickly turned his worry into burning glares at the tracks in the dirt as if they held all of the answers. Meanwhile, Jack and Sam had gotten out of the Impala to check their surroundings, making sure no one stayed behind to finish the three of them off, too.

So, okay, maybe he was feeling both furious  _ and _ devastated. 

He was pissed that he hadn’t pushed more when he told Cas that he wanted to go with him to the Gate. He should have been more adamant,  _ sterner _ ; made it more of a “this is how it is” situation rather than a request for him to join. He should have  _ tried _ , because then maybe Cas would be  _ home _ .

And,  _ fuck _ if it made sense, but he was pissed at Cas, too. At his need to prove himself all the time; to Heaven and Jack and Sam and  _ Dean _ . And, oftentimes, that’s what got the angel into these situations. He always opts to go solo, which then results in him biting off more than he can chew, which ends in him needing the help he should have just accepted in the first place.

But when all was said and done, Dean couldn’t help but feel himself collapsing in on himself. The reality that his best friend was in danger left him dangerously heartbroken.

Why was Cas taken?

Was he hurt?

Was he  _ alive _ ?

Where the hell  _ was  _ he?

Dean was feeling a lot like when Sam, still possessed by Gadreel, had forced him to kick Cas to the curb: Lost. Like he could’ve -- no,  _ should’ve _ \-- done something more to prevent the bad thing from happening, yet he didn’t. And that feeling left him broken inside. 

“We’ll find him,” came Sam’s voice from behind Dean, who was currently continuing his glare at the drag marks in the dirt. He bent down to run his fingers through the loosened soil and sighed when there was nothing other than cold Earth beneath his hand. No sulfur, no charred dirt --  _ nothing _ .

“We better,” Dean grumbled as he stood up. “You sense anything?” Dean questioned Jack, who was currently standing quite still with his eyes closed, a look of utter concentration on his face. 

Jack’s shoulders slouched when he opened his eyes. “No,” he replied, clearly defeated and worried. 

“What about the angel he met with? Would he have taken him?” Sam questioned. 

“No, I don’t think Azira-whatever had anything to do with it. Cas said, and I quote, ‘he’s one of the only good angels left.’ Generally, Cas doesn’t have a good sense of people’s intentions but I doubt he would lightly dub an angel good after everything that’s happened,” Dean explained tiredly. He rubbed at his eyes and moved away from where he stood by Sam and Jack. He opted for sitting sideways in the driver’s seat of Cas’ truck, his legs dangling a little out of the open door. 

His heart was uncharacteristically heavy. His hunter friends had been in some deep shit before; hell,  _ Sam _ had been in some deep shit. But this hurt differently; it caused a protective worry to claw its way from his stomach, where that anxious feeling was festering again, and up to his throat. He was suffocating just  _ thinking _ about where Cas went. And,  _ fuck _ , he couldn’t  _ focus _ . It was no help how worried he was, but he couldn’t help it -- hell, he couldn’t even begin to understand it. And it was scaring the hell out of Dean just how anxious he was about the whole ordeal. 

_ Get it together, Dean _ , he told himself.  _ You’re no use to him if all you’re gonna do is cry like a baby. Now man the fuck up and think of a solution _ .

He leaned his head against the steering wheel and closed his eyes, praying that the answer would just smack him in the face. Ironically, that’s when a not-quite-answer dawned on him.

If he could pray to Cas, he could at the very least tell the angel they were coming for him. Even if he wouldn’t respond, it was  _ something _ Dean could do --  _ something _ that would ease the useless feeling he was currently drowning in. 

“Castiel, if you can hear this: We’re gonna try to find you, buddy. We’re gonna bring you home. And I swear to God, we’ll kill whatever son of a bitch took you in the first place. Just hang in there,” Dean whispered, his prayer of course receiving no answers. No fluttered wings or mental images; just a pang in his heart as his fears of Cas’ state of being progressed from hoping he was okay to hoping he was  _ alive. _

When Dean looked back up from his prayer, he saw Sam approach him. “Dude, are you okay?” His brother questioned. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” Dean replied, throwing away any traces of worry so he could put on his “strong big brother” pants. Of course, as always, Sam saw right through his bullshit. 

“You don’t seem fine,” Sam mused with raised eyebrows. Dean scoffed. “Listen, if you’re extra worried because of how you, ya know, feel about him or whatever, that’s okay. But you gotta focus so we can find him.”

“I’m not-- I  _ don’t _ \--.” Dean sighed irritatedly and set Sam with an annoyed look. “I don’t have ‘extra worry’. I’m  _ worried _ \-- of  _ course, _ I’m worried -- because our friend was taken while we were on our way home from a hunt in cow-town. I’m  _ worried _ because there’s no tellin’ who or what took him, so we got nothin’! A big ole goose egg starin’ us in the face.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, we’ll find--”

“What if we prayed to him?” Jack offered loudly from behind the brothers. 

“Jack, I don’t think that’ll work,” Dean replied softly, his eyes not meeting the Nephilim’s.

“No, the angel Cas met with!” Jack said, a hopeful look on his face at his idea. Dean resented the optimism, seeing as in this line of work optimism often resulted in death (or worse), but agreed to entertain the idea since they had come up with nothing else. 

“Yeah, what the hell,” he muttered as he stood from Castiel’s truck, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Alrighty, uh, Azira- Aziraphael. Azirapale? Somethin’ like that,” Dean looked to Sam, who shot him an unamused look and gestured for him to continue.

“Please get your feathery ass down here. We’ve got some questions about your little talk with Castiel,” Dean said, addressing the sky. When no one appeared, he frowned and said with a bit more desperation, “ _ please _ ; we just want to know if the angels had anything to do with Cas’ disappearance.” 

Dean was startled by a ruffle of feathers from beside him, followed by a welch accent that said, “Hello, Dean. It’s  _ Aziraphale _ , by the way; a pleasure to meet you!”

Dean glanced towards the angel -- who was clad in all beiges and whites,  _ so, so many _ layers, and a bowtie to top it off -- and couldn’t help but glare at his plucky attitude. 

“Yeah,  _ pleasure _ ,” he said sarcastically. “Do you know what happened to Cas?” 

“Oh, dear me; something happened to him?” Aziraphale worried. “I  _ told  _ him to be careful. Perhaps I should have made sure he  _ was _ careful. I’m friends with a  _ demon _ for Heaven’s sake -- I worry about people being reckless because he is by far the  _ epitome  _ of reckless,” he rambled to himself as he paced. Dean, Sam, and Jack stared on curiously. 

Aziraphale ran a hand through his stark white hair, making it stand up in odd directions, and then paused as a realization seemed to dawn on him. “Aoife,” he all but whispered. 

“Yeah, the bitch witch behind the hybrids. What about her? D’you think  _ she _ took Cas?” Dean questioned, mentally kicking himself for not realizing that soon enough.

“I don’t see why not. He came to the Gate to ask questions about her; maybe she somehow found out and tracked him back here,” Aziraphale offered. It seemed like a viable option to Dean; maybe she had one of her hybrids tail him or something. Tried to find out why Cas had been poking around her mass grave. And if that was the case -- if she  _ knew _ that they’ve been checking into her hybrid business -- then it’s possible they  _ all _ had a hybrid watching from the shadows, as well. 

“Okay, great. Can you locate him?” Dean asked as his eyes curiously darted around to see if his suspicion was right. He knew Sam and Jack had scoped their surroundings, but he could never be too sure.

“I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale stated sadly. 

“Well, why the hell not?” Dean growled, taking a challenging step forward. Sam’s arm shot out quickly to snatch Dean’s, a reminder that Aziraphale was not there to harm them, therefore Dean shouldn’t lash out just because he was frustrated.

“What Dean  _ means _ to say is: Is Cas hidden or…?” Sam trailed off, not particularly wanting to finish his sentence in the presence of an emotionally compromised Dean, and Jack.

Aziraphale looked to be in deep concentration for a moment -- no doubt testing the connection angels had with each other -- and then said, “he  _ is _ alive, simply warded. I can very vaguely sense his life force, but I am unable to see him.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Okay, well does Heaven happen to keep tabs on this Aoife chic?”

“I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale replied sheepishly. Dean was getting quite tired of that response. “Heaven, I’m sure Castiel briefly informed you, is decidedly staying out of her business. Because of that, no angels have been tasked with ‘keeping tabs on her’,” Aziraphale explained. 

“Would another witch be able to track her?” Jack questioned from behind Sam and Dean. Aziraphale looked at him with pure and genuine curiosity before answering, undoubtedly recognizing him as the son of Lucifer. 

“It wouldn’t hurt to try. Aoife most likely took precautions and therefore warded herself against almost anything supernatural to ever exist, but with a powerful witch it  _ is  _ possible.” 

Dean hummed, deep in thought, a plan already brewing. 

So, they’d call Rowena. Get her to track down Cas and then they’d give Aoife hell for ever taking him in the first place (assuming it  _ was _ her who had taken him). It was perhaps the simplest and dumbest plan ever but if it was a shot at saving Cas, then Dean was all for it. 

“Alright, good enough for me. Let’s call up Rowena,” Dean stated, directing his gaze towards Sam. “You have that weird connection with her. Call her and tell her Cas is missing.”

“I  _ don’t _ \-- It’s not  _ her _ that I-- I  _ mean _ .” Sam took a breath, caught off guard by Dean’s accusation, and clenched his jaw. Then he sighed, seemingly trying to compose himself, and started again, “I’ll give her a call, but  _ not _ because I have a ‘weird connection’ with her.”

“Gettin’ a lil’ defensive, eh, Sammy?” Dean teased. Jack and Aziraphale looked confused and uncomfortable, respectively.

“Nope. Not defensive at all,” Sam shot Dean an exaggerated smile. “But if you must know, there  _ is _ someone. I’m not telling you anything more, though, because it is  _ beyond _ complicated. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.” Sam then strode off into the bunker, walking a bit straighter than before, leaving Dean stranded with just as much confusion as the two angels that flanked him. 

“Well, now that  _ that’s _ all squared away, I think it’s time that I return to Heaven. Guarding the Gate and all,” Aziraphale said, shooting Jack and Dean a kind smile. Jack waved to the white-haired angel, who kindly returned the gesture, and then he was gone in a ruffle of wings. 

A moment later, Dean’s face screwed up in confusion and disgust. “Did he mention that he was friends with a  _ demon _ ?”

Jack just shrugged, not particularly bothered, and headed into the bunker. Dean glared at the sky, hoping facial expressions could be delivered to the angels they were aimed at just as prayers were, and then followed Jack inside. 

~~~

Hours passed before Rowena finally showed up at the bunker; hours Dean spent by sitting around anxiously, wondering when the hell she was gonna show up (a sentence he voiced a few times, much to Sam and Jack’s dismay).

“Hello, boys,” came Rowena’s Scottish drawl as she entered the bunker, the door closing behind her in an echo. 

“Hey, Rowena,” Sam greeted politely. 

“So, Sam told me you lost yer angel. What is it  _ exactly _ you would like me to do?” Rowena questioned, her signature smile masking whether she was in a mischievous or genuinely helpful mood today. Dean could never quite tell. That was why Rowena was so off-putting to him; he couldn’t ever get a good read on her. 

“We just need you to track him. Astral project to where he’s bein’ held or somethin’ like that,” Dean explained, hoping to God that Rowena would be able to find Cas.

“Aye, I can do that. Do we know anything about poor Castiel’s captor?” She asked as she rummaged in her bag for what Dean assumed was a specific spellbook, judging by how she was discarding the ones it was apparent she wouldn’t need.

“Her name is Aoife,” Jack offered. The name caused Rowena to freeze momentarily before continuing her search with slowed movements. 

“Aoife,” she repeated in a tone void of any lightness it previously held. 

“Yeah. Do you know her?” Sam questioned. 

“Aye, I do. Do  _ you _ know who she is?” Rowena queried, her eyes drifting between the three boys.

“Not much. Wanna spill?” Dean replied, irritation seeping into his voice. They didn’t have  _ time _ for storytime, so they sure as hell didn’t have time for Rowena to keep them in anticipation. 

“There’s an old Irish Folktale called ‘The Children of Lir’. Only, it’s not so much a tale. More like  _ history _ .

“King Lir had four children whom he loved furiously. He  _ also _ loved his wife, the mother of those children, with just as much ferocity. But she eventually grew ill -- poor Aoidbh. In the end, she died, leaving Lir alone with a kingdom to rule and four children to raise. 

“Seeing the sadness within his children, Lir decided to remarry; give them the mother that they were obviously and desperately missing. This news spread far and wide, eventually reaching the High King, Dearg, who sent over his daughter, Aoife. 

“King Lir married Aoife, and the two lived happily with the four children.” Rowena sighed as she walked over to the decanter of whiskey the library always had stocked, pouring herself a hefty glass of the golden liquid. After she took a sip, she continued, “Aoife eventually grew mad with jealousy. She loved the children at first --  _ loved _ them! -- but no more than she loved King Lir. And when Lir made it  _ obvious  _ he loved his kids more than her, her jealousy turned to blind rage. She lashed out in an attempt to hurt King Lir as best she knew how -- through his kids. 

“While he was away, Aoife used the wand of a Druid to turn the four children into swans; a spell that would lock them in those bodies for 900 years.” Rowena sat down at the table and sighed, setting her cup down with a light ‘clink’. 

“So, she’s a possessive bitch?” Dean questioned after a moment. Rowena’s eyes shot up to him. 

“In simple terms, yes. Her jealousy fueled her rage, which fueled her power. And she was so  _ full _ of rage. Caught the attention of God, ‘imself,” Rowena stated as she picked up what seemed to be the right spellbook. 

She began to flip through the pages before she stopped somewhere in the middle of the book, her finger trailing as she read through the spell. 

“Alright, I don’t usually use this spell for astral projection but I want to be sure that I reach the right person,” Rowena explained. She then paused and continued reading before she said, “no ingredients other than some lit candles and a place to lay down. With the proper concentration I  _ should  _ be able to single out Aoife’s soul,” Rowena explained, standing up and straightening her dress. 

Dean nodded his head and led her to the nearest guest room, Sam and Jack following close behind. 

Before entering the room, Rowena stopped the three boys, giving them a slight start. 

“One more thing,” she began. “This form of astral projection requires one of you lot to bring me back to my body using  _ this _ incantation,” she handed Sam a slightly crumpled piece of paper. “I trust  _ you’ll _ bring me back, seeing as you were once psychically gifted and all” she stated, a pointed look directed at Sam. 

“Of course,” he replied, seemingly a combination of nervous and uncomfortable.

She then sauntered into the room and began to ready the environment for the spell (lighting the candles, turning off the lights, etc.). Rowena then settled onto the bed and closed her eyes. A few minutes passed before her breathing slowed slightly as she calmed down both her mind and spirit. 

“ _ Animum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis. _ ” Her voice was a harsh whisper which mixed with the sudden supernatural breeze that whipped through the room. The candles flickered, threatening to blink out, but the wind calmed down just in time. The room was left in an eerie silence for a moment and Dean felt a chill rip through his spine.

Rowena’s eyes then snapped open, glowing an eerie purple while they instinctively moved in a searching way, undoubtedly a physical reaction which mirrored what her spirit was doing.

“Rowena? What’re you seein’?” Dean questioned, his pessimistic self beginning to worry that maybe the spell hadn’t worked right. 

Rowena simply held up a hand to silence him -- a movement that struck a nerve in the hunter -- and continued her search. Dean rolled his eyes at being hushed but remained quiet anyways. He ground his teeth together as he watched on for what felt like forever, hoping that in the end, Cas was okay. He knew it was an ignorant hope -- one that conflicted with the pessimistic thoughts that told him Cas was deader than dead -- but it was the only coherent thing keeping him from feeling like he was about to fall through the floor.

Approximately ten minutes later --  _ ten minutes too long _ , Dean thought -- Rowena held up a hand again, although this time it was seemingly a sign for Sam to recite the spell to bring her fully back to her body. 

“ _ Imum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis _ ,” he pronounced slowly, being careful to make sure he got the words right. 

With a gasp and an arched back, Rowena snapped back into her body. She sat up and opened her eyes wide as she settled back into her current settings. 

“It  _ is _ Aoife,” she stated once her breathing had calmed down. “She’s got Castiel locked up tight with Enochian cuffs.” Rowena then flitted her eyes to Dean as she spoke her next words, “I couldn’t see all too clearly -- she’s got some powerful warding, after all. Took several minutes to fight through  _ that  _ alone -- but I’m afraid to say he’s in  _ awful _ shape. His wounds, due to his bindings, simply aren’t healing. If you don’t rescue him soon I’m not sure how long he’ll last.”

“Did you at least find out where the hell she’s keeping him?” Dean responded, his voice coming out clearly agitated. His face was red with rage, a natural reactional barrier he constructed over the years for moments like now: When worry gnawed just a bit too harshly at his heart.

“An abandoned parking garage near Topeka,” Rowena told them reluctantly. “You’re no match for her, though. Not even with the son of Lucifer on your side.”

“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Dean replied sarcastically before blowing out the candles and turning on the lights. “His name is  _ Jack _ , by the way, and I think we can all agree that we’ll take our chances if it means we have a shot at saving Cas.”

“Dean, Rowena--,” Sam began but Dean was quick to interrupt.

“I swear to God if your next words are gonna be ‘has a point’ I’m gonna shove my foot  _ so far _ up your ass--.”

“ _ Dean _ !”

“Look, I’m sorry, Sam. If you wanna side with  _ Rowena _ over your own blood then go ahead. I won’t stop you. But just know that  _ you _ can’t stop  _ me _ ; I’m going after Cas with or without you,” Dean snapped, his gaze settling harshly on his brother.

Sam sighed and shot a near pleading look at Jack. 

“I agree with Dean,” he spoke firmly. “I want Cas back, and if that means I have to fight Aoife then I will.” 

Sam looked exasperated as he realized he was outnumbered. 

“Alright, fine,” Sam relented, setting his jaw as a show of his true discomfort with their non-plan.

“Well, good luck boys. While you lot go out and face off against one of the angriest witches in existence, I’m going to return to my regularly scheduled plans of revenge,” Rowena stated in a delighted voice. As she went to make a move past Dean, he grabbed her arm. 

“Nu-uh,” he stated. “You’re coming with us. We need all the magical firepower we can get.”

“And why, dear, would I help you further than I already have?” She questioned, a near smug smile on her face. 

“Because we have supplies you may be interested in.  _ The Book of the White _ sound like something up your alley?” Dean inquired, knowing full well that Rowena was intrigued when her smile faltered at the mention of such a powerful spellbook. 

Assuming that Rowena wouldn’t pass up such an offering, Dean released her arm and left the room with a smug smile of his own. Sam and Jack followed after him in concern and wonder, respectively. 

“Bollocks,” Rowena muttered as she reluctantly followed the boys out of the room.

~~~

Cas grunted as he peeled open his eyes, the harsh lighting irritating them more than it should. He quickly closed them again to ward off the makings of a headache, but the pounding in his head persisted despite his efforts.

His body ached horribly as he shifted on what seemed to be a concrete floor. As he moved he could feel the stickiness of blood on his wrists, a sure sign that his powers had been tampered with. 

Risking opening his eyes again, he looked around the room to find it barren and dark, aside from the light that annoyingly beat down on him from above. Off in the near distance, where the outlines of the harsh lighting could just barely reach, he noticed vague rectangular shapes that stretched from the ground to the ceiling. Judging by the slight shine to them, Castiel gathered that they were metal support beams. More shapes caught his eyes, but they were painted on the ground. Faint parallel lines marked the cracked concrete just a few feet away from him, suggesting that the seemingly abandoned building had once been a parking garage. 

Castiel shifted once again, pulling lightly at the restraints around his wrists. He winced as the metal dug into his skin and clanked noisily against the beam he was trapped against.  _ Enochian cuffs. Right, kidnapped _ , he remembered. 

“Glad to see you’re awake,” a woman stated from behind Castiel, her accent thick and Irish. There was the slow ‘click’ of her heels on the concrete as she approached, matched with the light drag of cloth on the ground following her movements. 

_ Aoife _ . 

“Why have you been creating hybrids?” He demanded, trying his best to sound much stronger than he felt. 

“So eager to find out the truth, eh?” She remarked, the ‘clicking’ coming to a halt and a trail of soft fabric connected to a white flowing dress making its way into Castiel’s view. 

The angel looked up, squinting against the light, and was taken aback momentarily by how innocent Aoife looked. 

She had dark, brown hair that framed her face in two loose braids, decorated by flowers and curly flyaways that danced around the base of her neck and on the sides of her face. Her features held a softness to them -- an innocence that seemed out of place for a witch so ancient and powerful. She looked like she was still the young woman who had been shipped off to marry King Lir all those years ago. 

Her eyes reflected honey right back at Castiel. They swirled and deepened, almost looking impossible -- like an eye colour right out of a children’s fable. And the freckles that painted her pale skin seemed to solidify the innocent look that she had. It was almost unthinkable to Castiel that someone who looked so sweet held the potential for creating such evil.

But she  _ wasn’t  _ innocent, Castiel reminded himself. She has killed people and needlessly tortured supernatural beings for a cause that he still needed to figure out. If he was able to see her soul at the moment, he undoubtedly would see the depths of how twisted she was.

“Why are you making hybrids?” He asked again, feeling sweat drip down the side of his face as a sudden spell of dizziness hit him.

“You’re no fun,” Aoife said with a pout as she walked to a white-clothed table Castiel had failed to notice. Or, maybe it hadn’t even been there in the first place? He wasn’t sure. “I would have assumed my motives obvious, especially to a warrior of Heaven,” she continued slyly. 

“You’re making an army. Preparing for war,” Castiel filled in, his face knitted in confusion. “But why? Against who -- the humans?”

“In due time, angel,” Aoife replied sweetly. Her voice came out as soothing and hushed, but Castiel couldn’t help the chill that ran up his spine at her tone. She seemed off. A little  _ too _ put together --  _ too  _ calm despite the power that thrummed in her veins. She put up a gentle and innocent front, startling Castiel as he realized how much she reminded him of Lucifer. 

His attention returned to her movements when he heard the slight clink of metal as she pulled back the cloth on the table, revealing various objects that gleamed dangerously in the light.

“I’ve been away for quite a while, you know,” she began, her hands dancing over the various metals. Castiel squirmed uncomfortably as her hand stopped and settled upon a halo brace, complete with screws of varying lengths. “I’m just not sure what the angels and demons and  _ God _ are up to these days.  _ But _ , I learned a trick or two before I found you. I heard these bad boys,” she picked up the halo, looking at it endearingly, “may just be the key to unlocking all o’ your kinds’ dirty little secrets.” 

She advanced and Castiel made a feeble attempt to get away, but the metal that cut harshly into his wrists reminded him that there was no use. 

She squatted before him and delicately brushed at the hairs that had flopped onto his forehead. Castiel closed his eyes momentarily as her fingers graced his skin. He could feel the sharpness of her nails as they trailed from his forehead to his cheek before they moved so suddenly that Castiel couldn’t help the yelp that escaped him. 

His face stung as blood bubbled to the surface of the scratches that now adorned his face. Aoife stared at the angry red marks curiously. 

“It appears that I’ll have to take these pesky things off,” She said, motioning to the Enochian cuffs. “Can’t have you dyin’ on me, now can I, angel?” 

Aoife snapped her fingers and the bindings undid themselves. Castiel felt a surge of energy as his Grace fully restored itself, but something still felt off. He shifted uneasily on the ground and was alarmed when he felt a stinging tug from behind him.

“What have you done to me?” He asked weakly as he tried to stand but ultimately failed. 

“Just a little spell paired with human intuition to ensure my safety. I’m surprised you hadn’t felt it sooner,” she said as she looked past Castiel’s head, indicating something from behind him. 

When Castiel turned, his back screaming as he did so, he saw that his wings were nailed to the floor with pieces of metal that stuck out in ugly jags from his black feathers. The nails were painted with smears of red, and the surrounding feathers were clumped up and torn. He gasped and felt his heart shatter at the sight.

The image was enough for his brain to register the pain he  _ should _ be feeling in the two once-beautiful extensions of himself. An ache started to form before it quickly surged into a blistering pain. Any small shift he made disturbed his poor wings, setting them and his back on fire. 

“How were you able to see my wings?” Castiel grunted out, wincing as he felt the nails grate against the bone of his wings. 

“I  _ did _ say I used a spell, didn’t I?” Aoife replied with a wicked smile. She then fastened the halo brace to his head, the screws squeaking as she adjusted them. Once the brace was in place, she gave Castiel a gentle, almost friendly pat on the cheek. “Now, let’s see what makes an angel tick.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I'll be starting on the next one tomorrow :) I'm excited to write it! I have some interesting things planned...


	5. A Little Chuck of Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a doozy to write. And it came out much longer than I originally intended -- so much so that I had to split up my idea for this chapter in two! But, I'm honestly happy with how it came out :)  
> Enjoy!

Castiel felt like he was going to die. 

He knew that he wouldn’t -- that not only would his Grace keep him alive, but undoubtedly Aoife somehow would, too -- but his body  _ hurt _ . Every nerve ending felt like it had been torn apart then set aflame. And worst of all, his wounds tried to heal but they  _ couldn’t _ . He could  _ feel _ his Grace working hard to close the holes in his head and wings; could feel as his body uncomfortably accepted the metal as a piece of it, only for his wounds to crack open at the slightest disturbance.

The halo brace was the worst bit of it all. Each screw turn in the brace brought along the sickening sound of grinding metal on bone; the sharp drive of the screws piercing and intruding his brain; the pressure that made him feel like his head was impossibly trapped underwater. Any lurch of pain he made reminded him in a blinding tug that his wings were still viciously trapped to the ground. He had nowhere to go -- no escape from the feeling of his skull splitting open as Aoife tried to pry out any secrets in his head.

Castiel felt like he was going to die.

“Don’t worry. I think we’re almost there, angel,” Aoife said sweetly, though her voice was barely anything more than a muffled thrum to Castiel’s ears.

There was a squeak and then pain engulfed his mind once more, causing him to yell out as the screws delved deeper. His throat had been screamed raw -- he had given up hours ago on trying to contain the broken noises that escaped him. 

Castiel’s wings tugged and fluttered against the nails that held them in place, his back arching jerkily as he instinctively tried to pry himself away from the source of pain. He felt the wounds in his wings’ bones crack and open, expelling more blood as he writhed in place. He clenched his eyes as a white wave washed over him, drowning him in a moment of silence. 

He allowed himself to wallow in the calm before he risked slowly opening his eyes. The sudden blinding light of his settings made him squint for a moment, but when his eyes adjusted he was met with the sight of Dean. His eyes, his freckles, his infamous plaid; Castiel  _ swore  _ he could even smell the strong scent of his cologne. The angel looked around in a moment of confusion only to find the bunker in all its familiarity. The high ceiling, the telescope no one used, the tables, chairs, books -- it was all  _ there _ , so suddenly, but it somehow felt real. 

His mind was still on high alert, seeing as had suddenly appeared in the bunker, but then his eyes found Dean again. His mind grew a bit fuzzy as he tried to think of exactly  _ why  _ being in the bunker was so strange. He remembered pain, but couldn’t feel a single ache that indicated he was hurt. He even remembered being trapped. Stuck to the ground, pinned like a butterfly in a glass case, but the memory felt so distant that it must’ve happened a while ago. And  _ Dean _ . Dean looked so real; then again, why wouldn’t he?

All thoughts of impossibility began to ebb away as he convinced himself that this -- Dean and the bunker and that feeling of safety -- was reality. He’d felt that same warm feeling -- the exact one he was currently, pleasantly,  _ drowning _ in -- so often that it was ridiculous to think any of his surroundings were fake.

Castiel felt a brief moment of relaxation as he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He was  _ home _ . And Dean… Dean had saved him, right? It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember from  _ what _ Dean had saved him, or  _ when _ , but it made sense.

The thought nearly made Castiel sob in relief; the Righteous Man had been his saviour. And that idea -- that  _ fact _ \-- just  _ made sense _ . Because otherwise, Castiel wouldn’t be in the warmth of the library with the plaid-clad hunter in front of him.

Castiel went to say something -- thank Dean for saving him -- but the bunker gave a startling groan as if the building was about to cave in, burying them both. Castiel looked to Dean, trying to see if he was panicked, too, but the hunter remained calm and still. 

“Dean?” He all but whispered his friend’s name, the single syllable coming out garbled and strained. Dean didn’t react to the sound of Castiel’s voice.

The hominess of his settings faded momentarily, like a skipping record or a glitch in a movie, as Castiel felt the sudden and consistent rock of the world around him, throwing him off balance. His eyes danced back to Dean as he steadied himself, his vision blurring around the edges like an old saturated film. 

Dean began to look concerned, his face twisting in a way that somehow differed from the hunter’s usual expression of worry. Trying to brush off the oddity, Castiel mustered up what he hoped was a smile, using his limited human skills to try his hand at reassurance, but the numbness of his face made it impossible to tell what expression he donned. 

It slowly occurred to him, amidst the fuzziness of his surroundings, that he couldn’t quite feel  _ anything  _ at the moment. It wasn’t just his face that was numb, but it was a feeling that spread from his toes to the crown of his head. Something was  _ wrong _ .

The realization sent a surge of panic through his body as he ran his hand along the back of the wooden chair before him only to have his sense of touch betray him. Castiel assumed that that was a bad sign, but he maintained his calm composure nonetheless.

His eyes settled on Dean once more, trying to remain stoic as he attempted to figure out where he _really_ was. His previous inclination to ignore the impossibilities of his settings had been foolish, leaving wonder and anxiety to develop under his faux calm. The minimal effort it took to think of how he wound up at the bunker in the first place set his mind ablaze with piercing pain running through all axes of his head. He couldn’t even remember _getting_ there, or where he had been yesterday. And that brought about the same question he had a few moments ago; was that even Dean before him? Because now he seemed off, programmed, _too gentle_. But it _had_ to be… 

He saw the hunter smile at him in an unusually soft way, furthering Castiel’s confusion. He tilted his head, furrowed his brow, and went to speak. Before he could usher a single word, there was another tidal wave crashing through his vision, only this time it was red.

Castiel’s consciousness was snapped back to his body just in time to hear a far off “squeak”. With one more turn of the screws, his body slumped against the ground.

~~~

Despite the drive to Topeka only being about a half-hour, Jack had offered in a moment of urgency to fly everyone. Dean hated flying of all forms but he  _ especially _ despised angelic transportation; he abhorred the feeling of the ground suddenly disappearing under him as he was thrusted through time and space. Yet, to everyone’s shock, he had agreed hurriedly. He even went as far as to latch onto Jack’s arm before the kid had even finished his sentence. 

“Ready?” The Nephilim asked. Dean was clutching his bag just a little too tightly, his whitened knuckles giving away the nerves that his stoic face refused to portray. He nodded his head once at Jack, the action coming off as stiff but ready, nonetheless.

“Why can’t we just drive there?” Rowena muttered as she grabbed hold of Jack’s shoulder. Apparently, she wasn’t too fond of the idea of flying, herself.

“Because we don’t have time. For all we know, Cas could be--,” Dean cut himself off immediately, swallowing the rest of his words. “You said so yourself, we need to get him outta there  _ soon _ . We’ll have enough trouble as is looking for the parking garage. We don’t need the added half-hour of driving to slow us down,” Dean explained, borderline sounding condescending as if their urgency should have been obvious to the witch. 

As Rowena sighed and muttered something about Cas being “his boyfriend, why should  _ I _ care about what happens to him”, Dean became suddenly all too aware of Sam’s sideways glance at him. He began to fiddle with something in his duffle bag just to give him an excuse to not look at Sam, yet Dean could see in his peripherals that his brother’s worried look persisted. So, Dean did the next best thing: He shrugged off the feeling of his brother’s piercing gaze and simply avoided looking at him altogether. 

He  _ knew _ he was acting a bit brash. That he didn’t usually speak with such panicked urgency, and that he was probably sounding a little dickish. But he couldn’t help it; he wanted to find Cas, not his corpse. And the longer they waited, the more likely it was for them to find the latter. 

Hence the lack of driving, despite his irrational  _ need _ to drive everywhere, no matter the situation. Hell, he’d pulled up to the damn  _ apocalypse _ with his music blaring and windows down as if he had just been going for a nice Sunday morning drive. But Dean had expected to die at that moment; to sacrifice himself once again to save Sam. He had approached the situation casually because it was all he could do to steel his nerves and accept the fate he was giving himself.

But now, Dean was scared as hell because he  _ didn’t _ have control. He couldn’t be casual, he had to be fierce. He needed to be as urgent as ever so he could just get to Cas. And he really,  _ genuinely _ , didn’t care for Sam’s worried gaze. Because the last thing he wanted was for Sam to catch wind of Dean’s fear and then try to  _ talk  _ to him about it like he had at Cas’ truck. Dear God, he did  _ not _ want that again.

Still feeling the weight of Sam’s gaze, Dean decided to set Sam with an intense glare that hopefully delivered the message:  _ Stop fucking staring at me or I’ll end you _ . Sam looked away a moment later, allowing Dean to relax a bit without his little brother staring holes into the side of his head. 

“Okay,  _ now _ is everyone ready?” Jack questioned, his voice borderline agitated as he pulled Dean’s attention away from his brother and back to the situation. Apparently the Nephilim had been arguing with Rowena -- evident by the way the two were glaring at each other -- while Dean had been having his own telepathic argument with his brother. 

Dean nodded his head again before he glanced around to see Sam and Rowena confirm their readiness, too. He gripped tight onto Jack’s arm and felt the gravelled ground outside of the bunker melt away as Jack flew them to Topeka.

They landed not 2 seconds after they had taken off, the sudden transportation-induced whiplash causing Dean to lose balance for a moment. He let go of Jack’s arm and steadied himself, gripping tightly to the bag that hung off his shoulder as if that was proper support in his moment of vertigo. Luckily for him, the feeling didn’t last long.

“How are we supposed to narrow down the search? There’s gotta be at least twenty parking garages throughout the city,” Dean heard Sam say while he busied himself with going through the bag that had been his lifeline not 10 seconds ago. 

“We look for ‘angelic omens’ or whatever the hell you wanna call them,” Dean said as he secured an angel blade to his belt. “Remember Samandriel, Heaven’s most adorable angel? When Crowley was torturing him, Biblical signs popped up like a distress signal -- the burning bush and all that. Assuming Aoife ain’t givin’ Cas a massage, there’s bound to be things like that near  _ wherever _ he is.”

Dean zipped up his bag and slung it back over his shoulder. 

“I can fly around the city and see if there are any omens,” Jack said. Without waiting for a response, he left in a ruffle of wings. 

“Okay, while he’s doing that, Rowena: What do you know about Aoife’s weaknesses?” Dean questioned. Rowena stared at him hard for a minute, looking decisive. Dean could have rolled his eyes; she was probably debating what she could gain from giving them any information.

“Not much. I’ve only heard of her from her story; no other books mention her, as far as I know,” Rowena replied. To Dean’s surprise, she almost sounded regretful for not knowing more.

“Dammit,” he muttered, white-knuckling the straps of his bag. “So we have no clue what we’re walking into.”

“I  _ told _ you that you weren’t ready,” Rowena started defensively, taking a step towards Dean. Her previous gentle tone had since vanished. “ _ You _ just didn’t want to hear it,” Rowena finished, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked smug, and Dean didn’t care for it. 

“Well, what the hell were we supposed to do?! Sit in the bunker with our thumbs up our asses while Cas gets  _ tortured _ ? That may fly with you, seeing as you generally don’t care about anyone but yourself, but that’s not how we operate,” Dean replied, his body tensed in anger. “And  _ you _ will be sure as hell that we get out alive. Or else you’re not getting that damn book,” Dean added, his pointer finger outstretched threateningly towards the witch. Dean relished in the way that Rowena’s mouth tightened in a hard line, her smugness forgotten for a moment.

“Ah, yes. ‘That damn book’.” Rowena’s smile returned. She looked down at her shoes as she walked around Dean slowly, forcing him to turn so he kept her in his sight. “And who’s to say I won’t make a grand escape back to the bunker to take the book for myself?”

“You don’t have the key,” Dean responded with a scoff and a smirk. 

Rowena was still smiling as she approached Dean. She rested a hand on his shoulder and stood on her tippy toes to whisper in his ear. 

“Dear, I don’t  _ need _ a key.” She backed away slowly and pat Dean on the cheek lightly. He had to resist the urge to lash out at that moment. She was playing with him, stalling for time just because she could. Time they didn’t have; time  _ Cas _ didn’t have.

Or, maybe she was stalling because she was scared. Rowena was a survivalist, and Aoife, from what they’ve seen, was far more powerful than Rowena. Dean figured it was safe to assume that Rowena was acting on a fear of dying.

Rowena turned to walk away but was stopped suddenly when Dean gripped her arm. He yanked not so gently and forced her to face him. 

“You _will_ help us, or I will put you down like a sick puppy. Don’t think we didn’t come prepared.” As if he had been waiting for his cue, Sam cocked his gun, the click of a bullet sliding into its chamber resonating in the air, and steadied his weapon at the back of Rowena’s head. 

“Rowena,” Sam said, pulling the witch’s attention towards him as he approached the two. Her eyes softened when she looked at him, but that fear Dean had sensed earlier was still lingering behind her expression. “Help us.  _ Please _ . And once we’re done, we’ll go our separate ways like we always do. You with the book, and us with Cas.”

Sam gave Rowena his usual puppy-eyed stare, causing the rest of her resolve to crack. Dean would have looked shocked but the sound of Jack’s wings fluttering pulled his focus.

“I found him.”

The air disappeared from Dean’s lungs. He took a step back from Rowena and scrubbed a hand over his mouth. He focused on the ground for a moment, an attempt to look deep in thought, but in reality, his head was empty. He couldn’t think, couldn’t  _ move _ , because while he should have a million thoughts -- ideas for defeating Aoife -- he had none. 

“Dean?” He heard Sam ask. Dean kept his laser-eyed stare towards the asphalt in a poor attempt at trying to regain his composure, but it did nothing to steel the nerves that bundled in his stomach. He needed to  _ calm down _ . Breathe in, breathe out.  _ Come on, Winchester,  _ **_breathe_ ** .

After a moment, he forced himself to push on -- forced some coherent thoughts into his head for the makings of a plan -- because Cas  _ needed _ him to. Being anxious or nervous or  _ whatever _ the hell he was feeling momentarily was anything but helpful.

Dean nodded his head at Sam -- a confirmation that he was okay -- and then he looked to Jack.

“Are you sure?” He knew it was a redundant question, but he just  _ needed _ to know for a fact that they were saving Cas today. He wouldn’t be able to handle any false hope.

“I’m sure. But we need to go.  _ Now _ .” 

Sam was first to grab onto Jack, Rowena and Dean following suit. The four were then enveloped in a flutter of wings, the ground once again disappearing and then snapping back beneath their feet with barely a second between the two movements. 

They landed heavily before a building crumbling at its foundation. Tall fences, enveloped in twisting vines, stood as a barrier between them and the entrances. Burnt bushes lined the east side of the garage, leaving scorch marks on the concrete behind them.

“How much warding is there?” Dean asked Jack and Rowena. 

“There’s a lot of angelic warding. I can’t sense anything from inside -- no movement, sounds,  _ anything _ . It’s as if it’s empty,” Jack said, touching the fence lightly. He began to squeeze at the metal rings with his fingers, making them bend and pull away from the post that held them in place. With one final tug, the fence was brought down. 

“We can’t just  _ march _ in there. There’s some -- not a lot, but  _ some _ \-- magical warding, as well,” Rowena cautioned as Sam, Dean, and Jack made a move to enter the building. 

“It’s now or never, Rowena. We can’t risk losing Cas!” Dean stressed, his voice betraying him as he allowed himself to feel some of the frustration he had shoved down since arriving in Topeka. 

Without waiting for Rowena to make up her mind, Jack was grabbing her arm and dragging her along with him. “Let’s go,” he said, tightening his grip slightly when she tried to pull away. 

Dean and Sam shared an astonished look, never having guessed that sweet Jack could be so aggressive. But it  _ was _ Cas’ life on the line -- so, really, was there any other way to act? Dean didn’t think so.

Their footfalls echoed on the cracked concrete, betraying their original hope of remaining silent. 

They searched each floor and judging by Jack’s slightly weakening state with each new level, Dean assumed they were getting close. 

Sam, who was walking ahead of the group, held out a hand to stop everyone when they heard a shuffling off in the distance, followed by the softened click of a closing door. He held a finger up to his lips and waved a hand towards the noise, signalling to the others that he was going to check it out. He pulled out his gun, cocking it, and then went in the direction of the noise. 

Dean signalled for Jack and a reluctant Rowena to follow him before peeling off to the left. He had a gun of his own out, steadied and with a bullet at the ready. 

They had just made it to the end of the 3rd floor when a sound caught Dean’s attention. It echoed softly towards them, then surrendered the parking garage back into silence. It was a short noise; the scuffle of something soft against the floor. Had Dean not been paying attention, he probably would have missed the noise completely. He glanced back at Rowena and Jack to see if they heard it, too; judging by their expressions, they had. 

Dean approached with caution, cursing the dim-to-no lighting due to the openings on each side of the building having been mostly boarded up. He was surprised when he heard a scuffle again, only this time it was closer and louder. Now that the sound was clearer, Dean realized that it didn’t quite sound like shoes, but something closer to fabric scraping the ground. 

Rounding the corner to the 4th floor, Dean noticed a bright light off in the distance. It swung slowly from the ceiling and harshly cut through the darkness that seemed to drown the rest of the building. 

He looked back at Jack and Rowena, motioning with his head for them to follow towards the light. Even in the darkness of the room, Dean could see Rowena rolling her eyes for perhaps the millionth time that day. Dean desperately wanted to strangle Rowena -- but, ya know, priorities. Save Cas now, strangle the witch later.

Dean was .2 seconds away from moving when he heard footfalls approach them. He whipped around with his gun raised, assuming that Aoife was finally about to make her grand entrance. 

“Dude, it’s me,” Sam whispered. Dean could just barely see the dim outline of his brother’s ridiculously long arms held up half-heartedly in surrender. 

“Don’t sneak up on us like that,” Dean whisper-scolded before turning around once more and marching towards the bright light. 

As they grew closer, Dean began to notice something big moving against the ground. It would jerk occasionally before settling in what almost looked like a state of unease. Each movement it made brought about the scuffle he heard earlier. 

“No,” he heard Jack say softly. Dean would have never guessed that one word could sound so heartbreaking. 

“What? What is it?” He turned to face the kid and was startled by how distressed he looked. His hands were covering his mouth and his eyes portrayed such intense heartbreak that Dean had to look between the thing on the ground and Jack a few times in an attempt to understand what was so upsetting.

But on his second time glancing at the fluttering objects, Dean stopped dead in his tracks. With his eyes better adjusted to the lighting, he was able to see the jags sticking out of impossibly soft, damaged feathers. Big, metal invaders in what were most likely beautiful wings before they had been brutally torn up and pinned. Dean could see the blood, the  _ bone _ , and he understood what was so heartbreaking.

“Castiel’s wings,” Jack all but whispered, his voice breaking slightly on the word “wings”. 

“But where’s Cas?” Sam questioned. 

Dean eyed the room quickly. Noticing that Aoife had seemingly stepped away for a moment, he darted towards the wings without a second thought. He was relieved when the broken mess led him to Castiel -- and that, thank  _ God _ , his wings were still fully attached to him (though, Cas probably wished they weren’t).

“Sam: You and Jack check the perimeter and make sure that Aoife isn’t here. Watch each other’s six,” Dean said. The pair nodded their heads and left immediately. “And you,” Dean continued, smiling obnoxiously at Rowena, “are staying here. I want you in my sight at all times.”

“ _ Fine _ ,” Rowena, surprisingly, complied. Dean eyed her cautiously for a moment before refocusing on Cas. He uncocked his gun and slid it into the back of his pants as he knelt before the angel.

Dean hesitantly placed his hand on the halo brace, cringing when he saw how much blood had streaked down Cas’ face, and began to take out the screws. Dean’s heart broke more upon hearing all the broken noises that escaped Cas’ mouth. 

“It’ll be okay, Cas. I gotcha,” Dean mumbled. He rested his left palm just under Castiel’s jaw, cupping his face to steady it while his right hand worked on getting out the screws as painlessly as possible (which honestly didn’t count for much, seeing as it looked painful no matter  _ what _ Dean did). In an attempt to soothe the angel, Dean softly wiped his thumb over Castiel’s scruff. 

With a squishing, grinding sound, the screws were slowly taken out of Castiel’s head. As each one left, the angel seemed to become more and more aware of his surroundings. Dean felt a bit of his worry melt away when he noticed that the wounds were already glowing and closing up. 

“Dean?” Castiel muttered, squinted eyes trained on the hunter. “Is that really you?”

Dean felt a weak hand grip at his arm and squeeze lightly. He glanced confusedly at Cas’ hand before looking back at him to see a lazy smile was on his face. 

“It  _ is  _ you. You’re real this time.” Dean didn’t miss the utter relief in Castiel’s voice. The hunter went to question what Cas meant when he was interrupted by the angel saying, “Dean, I know who it is. It’s  _ Aoife _ ; she’s making the hybrids--”

“Yeah, we know, buddy,” Dean said lightly. “But we’ll talk about that later. Right now, we need to unpin your wings and get you the hell outta here.”

Dean shifted so he could grip the first jagged piece of metal. He glanced at Cas apologetically before wrapping his hand around the sticky material, cringing due to how thickly coated it was in Cas’ blood. He grabbed hold of the broken appendage the metal was sticking out of and firmly, but not harshly, pushed down to keep it in place.

“I’m sorry, Cas, but this is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.” Then, without further warning, Dean pulled. Cas, naturally and expectedly, screamed as the metal was torn out of his wing. His back arched, but luckily the wing began to glow a light blue.  _ Good to know those weren’t Enochian spikes _ , Dean realized as he inspected the nail for a brief moment. He then tossed it aside and moved on to the next one. 

“Any chance you could speed up the healing? Or help pull these out?  _ Something _ ?” Dean irritatedly asked Rowena, who was currently standing with her arms crossed as she watched on with a look of intrigue. 

“He’s  _ your _ pet angel -- you do it,” came Rowena’s reply. If Dean had the time to do so, he would’ve decked her right then and there. 

“ _ Rowena _ , I swear to God--” 

“Now, now, pretty boy. What do  _ you _ think you’re doin’?” Came a soft, drawling voice, cutting off Dean mid-threat. The slow echoing sound of heels on the concrete followed, growing louder as a brown-haired woman came into view. 

Aoife.

Dean shot Rowena a warning look because  _ dammit _ she already looked like she was about to run out on the fight.

“Oh, ya know, just keeping my friend company. He looked a lil’ lonely,” Dean replied, a sideways smile on his face as he stood. He wiped Cas’ blood on his jeans and stepped a bit more into the light, getting a better look at Aoife. He was surprised by her young features and was hauntingly reminded of Eve -- somehow innocent-looking, yet he  _ knew _ that she was anything but.

“I’d say he’s alright. Aren’t you, angel?” She asked, kicking Castiel’s foot lightly. He simply gazed up at her with an empty stare, his eyes unfocused and his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. He looked  _ tired _ and Dean just wanted the evil skank to go away so he could take Cas home. 

When Castiel didn’t respond, Aoife frustratedly set him with another kick, only this time it was much harder and aimed at his right side. Cas grunted in response and leaned to his left in an attempt to absorb the blow. The movement did anything but, and in turn simply forced his wings to jerk, causing him to let out a low grunt as he felt them scrape against the metal pieces Dean still hadn’t removed. 

Dean was about ready to skin the bitch. 

“You’re brave; coming here to rescue your little angel. Even  _ with _ the son of Lucifer accompanying you, you’re no match for me,” Aoife boasted, digging her heel into Castiel’s side. Dean ground his teeth together, but then ice-cold realization dawned on him; how the hell did she know Jack was with them?

“Yes, well, we’re a hopeful bunch,” Dean replied with an overly enthusiastic smile as he began reaching towards the back of his jeans slowly for his gun. When his fingers grasped the cold metal, he let them rest there for a moment as he tried to distract Aoife. “And how exactly do you know who the son of Lucifer is? Because if I’m not mistaken, you’ve been jammed in a cage for a long, long time.”

“I may have been locked away for nearly two millennia, but I’m not an  _ idiot _ , Dean. I poked and prodded at your angel’s mind, trying to find out all his dirty little secrets. In the process, I discovered who you and Sam are -- the great vessels of Michael and Lucifer. And that sweet,  _ loving  _ Jack is the son of Lucifer. Castiel seems to have quite the soft spot for all three of you, though  _ some _ more than others,” Aoife smirked at Dean knowingly. “Besides, I could smell the Nephilim the minute he stepped foot in the building.”

“Okay, now that’s just creepy,” Dean replied. Aoife shot him a dark look, a warning that she could wipe him off the map if he kept it up. 

“It’s called  _ power _ ; something  _ you _ lack,” Aoife responded, her nose turned up pridefully. She then looked back down at Castiel and added, “something even your kind lacks. I would have expected more from  _ God’s  _ precious warriors.” 

Dean found it odd how she seemed to spit out the name “God” but didn’t dwell on it long. His gun was out and cocked in an instant, steadied skillfully at Aoife. 

“Oh, you really are just a pretty face,” Aoife said, sounding almost disappointed. Dean glared before firing his gun. He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Aoife held up a hand, easily stopping the bullet, yet there he stood with semi-widened eyes and his lips parted in -- you guessed it -- surprise.

The bullet dropped to the ground with a light ‘ping’ and an instant later, Dean was sent flying backwards, his back smacking against a metal support beam. He gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs. 

Aoife advanced towards him, but Rowena walked to stand between him and the other witch. For a moment, Dean was almost touched to see Rowena defending him.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you harm him, dear. He’s got some precious cargo of mine,” Rowena stated.  _ She had to go and ruin any nice thought I had of her, didn’t she? _ Dean thought sardonically. 

“Ah, and you must be Rowena. You were the first one I heard of once I escaped. Throughout my journey to regain my strength I heard little whispers here and there about the owner of  _ The Book of the Damned _ ; the one who was able to reclaim her full power. I was excited to meet you, though I hadn’t expected you to be as dumb as pretty boy,” Aoife smirked. She held up a hand to perform a spell, but Rowena -- who had been ready since the whole evil monologue began -- was quicker. 

“ _ Moveantur! _ ” 

Aoife was sent crashing to the ground a few yards from where she originally stood. Dean took the moment to stand and race towards Castiel’s wings, working quickly to take out the rest of the metal spikes. He mentally apologised at how careless he was being, but he didn’t really have a gentler choice at the moment.

“You’ll pay for that one,” Aoife was muttering as she collected herself. She wobbled for only a split second as she stood before her strength was seemingly replenished. She smiled and wiped away the smallest dribble of blood from her lip before she began to make her way back towards Rowena. 

“ _ Atenuare! _ ” She yelled. Dean was momentarily blinded by a blast of purple lightning that stretched through the room towards Rowena. He quickly recovered from his shock and -- using one of his hands to shield his eyes from the light -- tended to the last piece of metal. 

Rowena grunted from the blast but was able to redirect it back towards Aoife, seeing as the spell was one she was familiar with. After using it against the Darkness, she realized how well she could handle that type of power. Aoife, who was seemingly unaffected by the returned blow, looked surprised at Rowena. 

“Maybe you  _ do _ live up to the hype,” she praised. 

“What can I say? I was born talented,” Rowena responded proudly. Dean rolled his eyes; the entire parking garage was nowhere near big enough to contain a combination of both witches’ egos. 

“Talented, indeed. But there’s still one nasty little issue,” Aoife started. Dean glanced at her and saw Jack sneaking up on her from behind on the left with Sam coming up on the right, a gun in hand. “You’re in my way.”

Before Aoife could move, Jack pounced on her, wrapping his arms around her to keep her trapped in place. His eyes glowed golden as he kept her arms in place with his own, his form beginning to shine as pure angelic strength poured into his hold. She thrashed violently in his arm -- surprisingly physically stronger than probably  _ any _ of them expected -- but Jack was ultimately stronger.

“Now, Sam!” He yelled, his voice strained. Sam circled the pair and readied his gun, firing a well-aimed shot just between Aoife’s ribs. Her body went rigid in shock, so Jack let go and rounded her to stand next to Sam. 

She leant forward and staggered a bit, coughs wracking her body violently. Her hands, which clutched at the wound, were already coated in blood. Dean felt relieved, but it was short-lived. 

Aoife, disturbingly, began to dig at her wound, her fingers searching for the bullet. The sight was sickening, causing Dean to step away from Castiel’s slowly healing wings to retrieve his fallen gun. 

He cocked it and aimed at Aoife, ready to empty his clip into her when a snap resonated in the air, followed by the witch disappearing. At first, he thought somehow Aoife had done it, but her fingers had been quite busy playing a failed game of self Operation. 

Dean looked around -- glancing at  _ Cas _ , even, to see if he had made her disappear, but the angel remained tired-looking and slumped to the ground. Dean’s confused eyes then settled on Sam, who was worriedly looking at something just past his head. Dean’s shoulders squared and his back straightened as a watchful feeling prickled at the hairs on his neck. He turned slowly -- his gun still readied in his hand -- and was startled to see Chuck. But his startlement quickly progressed into anger upon seeing He who had abandoned everyone and everything.  _ Again _ .

“Chuck?” Dean asked, somehow successfully sounding annoyed. 

“Hey guys,” Chuck greeted awkwardly. When no one seemed all too delighted to see Him, and His greeting was met with silence, He snapped His fingers again, bringing everyone to the bunker. Dean was relieved to see Cas was standing beside him with no sign of ever being injured. He was not, however, delighted when he noticed that he was adorning his trenchcoat, which meant that Chuck had magically snatched it from his bed. Yet another reason to hate God. 

“What’re you doing here?” Dean questioned. He shifted his weight and stood ever so slightly in front of Cas. Chuck may have healed the angel but that didn’t mean Dean automatically trusted Him. 

Chuck sat down heavily in one of the wheely chairs at the map table and propped his feet up. He leaned back in his chair, causing it to squeak in protest, and laced His fingers over His stomach; which, Dean noticed, was splotched wet with red. 

He then sighed, pulling Dean’s focus back to His face, and fixed the five people before Him with a serious look. 

“We need to talk.”


	6. Tennessee Whiskey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I immediately thought of Dean and Cas when I listened to Tennessee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton for the first time in years the other day. So, that brought about some fluffy ideas :)  
> Also sorry for such a long wait! I started college last week so I've been ~busy~  
> Enjoy!

Dean stared blankly at Chuck for a moment, his mouth hung open because  _ damn right _ they needed to talk. They’d needed to talk for  _ years _ because -- surprise, surprise -- God left them out to dry once again and didn’t bother to leave an instruction manual that outlined what fuck He’d been going on about when He said Sam and Dean were enough to protect the world. 

And while Dean was on the subject, where the hell  _ did  _ He go? Off on some celestial adventure with His sister? If that was the case, then Dean would gladly call bullshit on His whole “I’m back and as present as ever” schtick. Because evidently, He  _ wasn’t _ . 

“Okay, you wanna talk? Let’s talk,” Dean started, scrubbing a frustrated hand over his mouth before he continued. “You  _ left _ , okay? No, fuck that, you left  _ again _ ! And now, after four years, you return; and for what? Some witch with an ego the size of North America?” Dean paused and took a step forward, his eyes dangerous as he set a hard glare on  _ God _ . 

“Where were you when Jack lost his soul, huh? Or when The Empty invaded Heaven? Or how about, where the  _ hell _ have you been when everything in our lives went so incredibly sideways we  _ barely _ made it out alive? 

“Because from where I’m standing, you piled a shit ton of responsibilities on Sam and I’s shoulders  _ so _ unjustly and then you  _ left _ . You tell us that we’re enough to protect the world -- as if we hadn’t been trying to do  _ your _ job for  _ years _ \-- and then you leave! Who the  _ fuck _ do you think you are?” Dean was red with rage. Every ounce of frustration he held since Cas’ abduction had bled out into his words, and, goddamn, he just scolded  _ God _ . 

He was just so  _ tired _ and he wanted Chuck to own up to the fact that, despite being His omniscient self, He fucked up  _ again _ . He allowed so much shit to happen between now and when He left with Amara,  _ including _ Cas being killed, lost, hurt,  _ taken _ . And,  _ fuck _ , if Dean wanted to blame God, then he would. 

To say Chuck looked astonished would be an understatement. His once lax posture was fixed into an attentive and rigid position. He leaned forward with a wince, His shoulders squared as He propped His elbows on the map table. 

“I promised to be present and I haven’t been,” Chuck admitted softly, the truthful sound of His admission causing some of Dean’s anger to melt away. “I’ve been trying to rekindle -- or,  _ kindle _ , rather -- a relationship with Amara. 

“But me being back now -- that’s me trying to make amends.” He paused and ran a hand through His hair, scratching at the base of His neck, and then He continued, “You gotta understand, Dean. I couldn’t’ve been there for  _ all _ of it, even if I had been more present. I still believe in the power of Free Will and all that.” Chuck smiled lightly, but the assumedly peaceful gesture just made Dean wearier. 

“Michael,” Sam said quietly after a beat, the name causing Dean to flinch slightly as memories of what Michael had made him do came clawing their way to the forefront of his mind. He noticed Cas glance at him worriedly out of the corner of his eye, but he ignored the angel’s gaze. He was  _ fine _ \-- there was nothing Cas would be able to do for him, anyway.

Chuck looked at the younger Winchester confused, but Sam didn’t meet His eyes. He instead glared at the table in front of Chuck, his jaw tight.

“What about him?”

“After you left,  _ again _ , Lucifer did what Lucifer does. Tried to jump start Armageddon 3.0 by smashing all your favourite toys and- and having some cosmic temper tantrum because of  _ you _ . He was angry at  _ you _ and he took it out on the Earth.

“And he just kept going; kept digging his claws into the world. So deep, so hideously, that Dean  _ had  _ to say yes to some- some extra-douchebag Michael from Earth-Apocalypse. 

“And when Dean almost locked himself up for eternity  _ just _ to keep Michael away from destroying the world? I prayed. I knew you wouldn’t show, but I  _ needed _ you to. But you turned your back on us. That wasn’t a moment about giving us Free Will -- you just didn’t care.” Now Sam was looking at Chuck, their eyes locked as Sam let his frustration bleed out. Chuck looked hurt at Sam’s words but the younger Winchester didn’t seem all too bothered by it. He looked broken -- like he’d been waiting to call God Himself out on all His bullshit with just as much fury as Dean had. 

“I heard your prayers,” Chuck admitted finally. Sam’s face dropped, softening into something of pure sadness and loss. 

“Then why didn’t you  _ do _ anything?” Chuck opened his mouth, seemingly attempting to grasp the right words out of thin air, but then came up short. Sam had rendered God speechless.

“Why are you here now?” Castiel asked, breaking the heavy silence. Chuck’s eyes -- looking as ancient as He was -- slid to Cas. 

“Because Aoife is my responsibility,” He stated simply. Dean could have rolled his eyes.  _ Like that’s ever been a reason for you to show up before _ , he thought bitterly.

“How?” Jack asked, his voice melodically soft and holding a newfound timidness to it. God’s presence was big, and His complete attention was almost worse. 

As Chuck craned His head to look at Jack, the Nephilim seemed to shrink ever so slightly. Jack was potentially the only person in the room who had powers rivaling that of Chuck’s, yet the way he acted could have had anybody fooled. 

Then again, Chuck’s “Smite all Nephilims” policy was probably enough to make  _ any _ Nephilim nervous, especially the son of Lucifer. 

But, despite the growing fear of what God would do, Chuck didn’t appear like He was ready to smite. Rather, He leaned back and relaxed His posture again. Jack seemed to ease a bit, as well.

“I was cruel in my punishments during the Middle Ages. Well, I used to be pretty cruel almost all the time. That’s part of why I disappeared in the first place; I had become too drunk with the power of creation. I thought since I was the one to flip the switch on humanity that it was all  _ mine _ , but I learned eventually that that wasn’t the case; that I had created Free Will yet tried to control it at the same time.

“The Middle Ages was when I was at my absolute worst.” Chuck sighed and dragged a hand down His face. He looked ancient and impossibly tired. Dean shivered, a haunted feeling traipsing over him. 

“What did you do?” Sam asked quietly, his face contorting into that of fear and worried judgment. 

Dean could have laughed in pure frustration at the situation. Of  _ course, _ God had done something Lordly enough to make an enemy that Team Free Will 2.0 had the pleasure of dealing with. Awesome.

Almost as if Chuck could sense Dean’s annoyance, he said, “you have to understand, Aoife was evil. She  _ is _ evil! The whole story about her turning her step-kids into swans is true; what she did is the reason I punished her in the first place. She performed powerful magic for such evil purposes. She- she was becoming too much like Lucifer--!” Chuck cut Himself off, swallowing thickly as He cast His eyes downwards. “She needed to be stopped before she stepped any more out of line. So Michael and I paid her a visit.”

“And then you locked her up,” Rowena finished softly, speaking for the first time since they arrived at the bunker. 

“Yeah,” Chuck responded, a hint of regret (or maybe guilt) in His tone.

“Awesome,” Dean muttered bitterly. “Is that really your solution? Lock up every son of a bitch that pisses you off in some hellish, void-of-anything cage?” Dean asked sourly.

God looked tired. He cast Dean a weary look before He set His eyes to the floor again, His intense stare burning holes in the bunker floor. “It gets worse.”

“How the hell could any of this get worse?” Dean asked irritatedly. Chuck let out a dry chuckle. 

“Aoife cast a spell just before Michael was able to restrain her. It was something I had never heard before; some sort of binding spell. In short, she bound her soul to my Essence. That’s why I couldn’t kill her then, and I still can’t kill her now.”

“If she dies, you die,” Castiel stated, his jaw tightening as the gravity of the situation settled in. 

“Bingo,” Chuck said non-enthusiastically.

“What if we broke the bond?” Sam offered. “Unbind her soul from your Essence--”

“That sounds dirty,” Dean muttered despite his sour mood, a playful smirk finding its way onto his lips for only a second before it disappeared completely. Sam rolled his eyes while Cas nudged him softly. Dean looked at Cas, who simply glared back. Damn sassy angels.

“-- and find a way to deal with her then,” Sam finished. Chuck regarded Sam’s idea thoughtfully. 

“It  _ could _ work, but I don’t know what spell she used,” Chuck said after a minute. He then shifted His eyes to Rowena, a knowing look on His face. 

“It would be  _ old _ Celtic magic; spellwork I’ve never seen before!” She stated defensively as she took a step back from the piercing stares of everyone in the room. “You can’t  _ seriously _ be asking this of me?! I’ve helped you lot plenty today  _ and _ I still don’t have the book you promised me,” Rowena added, a look of utter disbelief on her face.

“Don’t you think Aoife is a threat to you, as well? Don’t  _ you  _ want her dead?” When Rowena still looked unimpressed, Sam added, “besides, out of everyone in this room, God aside,  _ you’re _ the one she’ll be gunning for. She’s seen how powerful you are.”

Rowena regarded him thoughtfully, most likely weighing her options. 

“Bollocks,” she muttered to herself. “Alright  _ fine _ . I’ll look into it.”

Rowena then sent a risky glare to Chuck and then stormed up the bunker stairs, opening the door with the flick of her wrist before swiftly closing it behind her. 

“She is such a drama queen,” Dean stated as he stared at the bunker door. Sam snorted in response while the three celestial beings ignored him altogether. 

“Hopefully she finds what we’re looking for,” Chuck said, an air of melancholy surrounding him.

“She will,” Jack said softly, his gaze turned to the floor as he spoke. Dean looked at the kid and saw that he had a small hopeful smile on his face.

Jack looked up just in time to see God set him with an unreadable look. He simply gave Chuck a small nod paired with his gentle smile before he turned on his heels and left in the direction of the kitchen. 

After observing the odd behaviour, Sam shot Dean and Cas a worried glance before following Jack out of the room. 

“That was weird,” Dean muttered to Cas. The angel stared curiously at the spot where Sam and Jack previously stood, nodding his head in agreement.

The pair’s attention was drawn back to God when they heard the wheely chair move suddenly across the floor. With more effort than it should have taken, Chuck steadied Himself on His feet, using the map table to balance. 

“Man, I have not felt a mortal wound in eons,” Chuck said with a shaky chuckle as he inspected the angry, torn skin beneath his shirt.

“Why haven’t you healed yourself?” Castiel queried, his head tilting to the side. 

“Call it taking one for the team,” Chuck said with a smile as he dropped his shirt back into place. He then snapped his fingers, replacing the dirty polo with a clean one. “If I heal myself, then Aoife is healed, too. I won’t die from this wound, but keeping it will ensure she stays weaker.”

“Oh,” Dean said dumbly. “Well, thanks.”

“No problem,” Chuck replied casually. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I return to Heaven for a bit. Maybe allow a few more angels to see my face,” He said with a wide grin on His face. If Dean didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the look on God’s face was giddy; a sign that He was missing home. Or, He was missing the worship He would undoubtedly receive. There was no telling with Chuck.

Castiel perked up, too. “What will you do?”

“I’m not sure yet. Maybe I’ll finally have that chat with Aziraphale. Or I’ll instate an interim God; who knows? I’m feelin’ a little generous today.”

“You won’t hurt him, right? Aziraphale, I mean,” Castiel asked, his voice pitched an octave higher in worry. 

“No, I merely mean to give him a long-overdue ‘thank you’. All of the other angels who guarded Eden abandoned their posts or aided in Lucifer’s violation of the Garden. Aziraphale was the only one who stayed to fight; he remained loyal until the flame left his sword,” Chuck said. His words reassured Cas, causing the tension in him to ease a bit and for his shoulders to drop in relaxation at the information. 

“Aziraphale is one of the best there is,” Castiel said with a smile. Dean felt a small pang in his heart ( _ not _ jealousy, of course), and shoved the feeling back down. 

“That he is,” Chuck confirmed. He then moved away from the map table and set the pair with a serious look. “I promise to come when you call me. But since there’s nothing I can do on Earth, I figured it’s best that I tend to a different front.”

“There’s a  _ hell _ of a lot you could fix on Earth. For starters--” Dean was swiftly interrupted by Castiel gripping his arm tightly. Dean shot him a pointed look, only to see intense eyes that said  _ shut the hell up, right now _ , staring back at him. 

“Yes, well, the whole Free Will thing is a gift and a curse,” Chuck replied simply before snapping His fingers and disappearing. 

“God or no God, that guy’s still a douche,” Dean muttered. 

“ _ Dean _ .”

“What?”

~~~

Sam was perhaps a little too glad that he had an excuse to leave the room. Granted, it was quite a worrying excuse, but it was an opportunity to not have to face God for longer than he had to. Standing in that room -- across from the being who allowed room for so much anguish to enter his and Dean’s lives -- was absolutely unbearable. So, he took it. 

Due to Jack’s odd behaviour towards God and his equally odd departure, Sam was quick to realize the Nephilim was probably scared. More specifically, scared of what God might try to do to him once this whole mess was done and over with. And  _ that _ \-- such a genuine fear -- was probably a foreign feeling to Jack.

Hearing the clinking of silverware on dishes, Sam’s suspicion that Jack escaped to the kitchen was confirmed. He rounded the corner and smiled when he noticed the Nephilim was busy readying himself a bowl of Cookie Crunch. 

Sam leaned against the entryway and cleared his throat so as to not startle Jack too much. Despite his efforts, Jack gave a small start and turned quickly, nearly knocking his bowl off the counter in the process. Noticing it was Sam, he set the hunter with a soft smile and moved away from the counter with a milk carton in his hand. 

“Hello,” he said softly as he put the milk in the fridge. 

“Hey,” Sam replied before pushing himself off of the doorway and fully making his way into the room. Sam sat down at the kitchen table and rested his crossed forearms on the cold metal, Jack soon sitting down across from Sam once he had his cereal. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Jack said a little too quickly. Noticing Sam’s raised eyebrow, Jack visibly deflated and said, “I mean,  _ no _ , but I can’t show that I’m scared, can I?”

“What do you mean?” Sam questioned as he stole a piece of cereal from Jack’s bowl. The Nephilim watched his movements absentmindedly, seemingly trying to pick out his next words carefully. 

Finally, he settled on, “is God going to kill me?”

The smallness in Jack’s voice was enough for a wave of protective anger to surge in Sam’s gut before he forced the feeling to die down. Jack didn’t need Sam to be fierce and protective right now -- he needed comfort and for Sam to tell him everything would be okay, even if it wasn’t. 

But Sam just wasn’t sure he could sound genuine; he had no clue what God might do to Jack after this whole mess was over. Afraid he would say the wrong thing, Sam asked, “why would you say that?”

“Castiel told me once about God’s Nephilim policy. He doesn’t like them and has been known to enforce their deaths. He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” Jack looked down at his cereal with a sullen expression and took a small bite. Sam didn’t miss how Jack seemed to be refusing to make eye contact with him. 

“But you’re different,” Sam said after a minute. “You’re compassionate and kind and  _ loving _ . Not Dean, not Cas, not Bobby -- hell, most humans aren’t as caring as you. And if God can’t see that, then we’ll just have to make Him. He won’t get you, not on my watch.” Sam reached across the table and squeezed Jack’s shoulder lightly. When the Nephilim’s eyes finally wandered upwards to meet Sam’s, the hunter shot Jack a kind smile before he retracted his hand to steal another piece of cereal. 

“Thank you,” Jack replied softly. This time when he looked down to take a bite, a small smile donned his face; it was tiny, and almost undetectable, but it was  _ there _ . 

Sam’s smile widened when he noticed. He knew that his words didn’t automatically soothe Jack’s fears, but that’s because there wasn’t really anything that  _ could _ . Chuck -- the almighty God who split seas and damned millions upon millions -- would potentially be Jack’s undoing. Having to sit in the same room as your demise is something Sam had experience in; he  _ knew _ there was no fixing the fear that surrounded something like that.

In an attempt to lighten the sullen atmosphere, Sam mischievously stole not one, not two, but a whole ass handful of cereal from Jack’s bowl. 

“Hey!” Jack exclaimed, his eyes tearing away from his precious food to glare at the dripping mass of Cookie Crunch in Sam’s hand. “ _ My _ cereal. You already stole enough,” he whined with a playful frown as he used his left hand to shield his bowl from Sam. 

“Last I checked,  _ I _ bought the box,” Sam remarked as he popped a few of the tiny cookies in his mouth. 

“Yeah, for me!” Jack remarked. “I thought you didn’t like sugary cereal?”

“I don’t. And even though you’re a Nephilim  _ and _ I relented enough to buy you the box, I still don’t think you should eat it, either.” Sam leaned back from the table a little and sighed contentedly. “But every once in a while, it’s worth it.”

Jack stared at Sam strangely, unsure if Sam was purposefully sounding oddly philosophical or if he just genuinely liked sugary cereal now and then.

However, the hunter just smiled at Jack and continued to eat another piece. Being with Jack in the kitchen hit him with a wave of nostalgia, reminding him of all the times he and Dean ate together in those gross motel rooms while their dad was on a hunt. Dean would always playfully steal bits and pieces of Sam’s meal, and Sam would do the same in return. It was, in some strange way, a sign of affection. The back-and-forth quips; the  _ mess _ that was the result of miniature food fights; the scramble to clean up before Dad got back -- they were simple memories, but Sam cherished them. 

And he was glad that he could now make new, similar ones with Jack. So no, he didn’t like sugary food. But he loved Jack -- he was family -- and that’s what mattered. 

Attempting to steal another piece after finishing what he had in his hand, yet having his hand swatted away by Jack, caused Sam to frown playfully at the Nephilim. Jack, in return, rolled his eyes and made a show of dramatically snapping his fingers in a very Gabriel-esque fashion. The gesture made Sam feel haunted, but he brushed off the feeling.

Instead, Sam looked curiously at the Nephilim, who gestured at the table with a pointed look. Sam glanced down and saw that he now had his own bowl of Cookie Crunch, only instead of whole milk it had almond milk. He smiled, his heart warming as he noticed the little detail.

“Thanks, Jack,” he said softly. Jack smiled back at him before returning his attention to his cereal. 

The two ate peacefully and Sam -- for the first time since Cas was taken, and he started having dreams about a certain dead angel -- felt himself relax.

~~~

After their little confrontation with God, Dean decided to retreat to his room to process everything that happened in the past -- what time was it? --  _ hour _ . Goddamn, it’s been a long day. 

He collapsed on his bed heavily, laying on his back so he could stare at the ceiling. He then grabbed his headphones from the nightstand and popped a tape -- the one with his favourite mix -- into his Walkman, letting the music drown out his thoughts. 

Because,  _ fuck _ , God was back, and that never meant anything good for them. God never did his job -- never handled shit right -- and Team Free Will was always left to clean up the mess (and it was usually quite a big mess). 

And Dean just  _ really _ did not want to think about all of that right now. He refused to let his mind wander over to that dark area he kept sectioned off -- the one that held all of his worries about Sam and Jack and the world and  _ Cas _ . 

Oh fuck,  _ Cas _ . 

Here Dean was, hiding from his problems when Cas so obviously needed him. Cas, who had bent over backwards for him countless times before -- who was probably still feeling a bit fucked up over being treated like Aoife’s lab rat. 

And Dean was currently abandoning him. 

He crossed his arms over his chest and debated whether or not he should pray to the angel. Or maybe he should wait until tomorrow? Maybe Cas needed time alone to process what happened. Plus  _ God _ came back (again); that probably wasn’t easy to digest...

Dean was surprised out of his thoughts when he heard a dull pounding on his bedroom door over the sound of  _ Dear Mr Fantasy _ by Traffic blaring in his ears. Without thinking twice, he threw his headphones off and bolted to the mahogany, cautiously opening it as his hunter instincts kicked in. On the off chance the bunker  _ was _ under attack, it was better to be ready rather than sorry.

However, to Dean’s great relief, the bunker was not under attack. On the other side of the door, looking shaken and a little tired, was Castiel. He stood there for a moment with slouched shoulders and his hand still slightly raised as if he had been ready to knock again. 

“Dean.”

The syllable was enough for Dean to grab Castiel by the arm and drag him into his room, swiftly closing the door behind them. 

“Cas, you okay?”

“I…” He paused, seemingly at a loss for words. He furrowed his brow in such Castiel fashion, and Dean’s heart clenched. The angel was clearly hurting, yet didn’t even know where to begin to explain what it was he was feeling; maybe, Dean realized, he didn’t know  _ how _ . 

“I feel violated,” Castiel settled on, his voice soft yet gruff. His eyes searched the floor vehemently as if the marked-up material held all of the answers to his feelings. Dean felt a lump in his throat.

He wanted desperately to help Cas but he didn’t quite know what to say. Instead of offering words of wisdom (because seriously, what  _ could _ he say?), he let his eyes wander over Cas’ face before he decided to aim them at the floor, mirroring Cas’ earlier move as the silence stretched on.

He could feel when Cas’ eyes settled on him again -- piercing blues that he could feel just  _ pleaded _ for answers -- and was glad when the angel decided to fill the silence. 

“I don’t know how, but she was able to make me reveal my wings against my will. No witch has ever been able to do that -- I didn’t think anyone except  _ God _ was able to do such a thing. But evidently, she could.” Castiel sat down on the edge of Dean’s bed and dragged a tired hand down his sullen face. “God -- or  _ Chuck _ \-- may have fixed me, but what happened can never be undone.”

Now  _ that _ Dean understood. He knew what it felt like to be put together after something so horrible but still feel  _ wrong _ . Like no amount of healing or showers or sickeningly sappy heart-to-hearts could fix the feeling that twisted its way deep inside. 

He glanced at Cas -- his heart constricting when he saw that hurt puppy look -- and knew exactly what the angel needed at that moment. 

“C’mere,” Dean muttered, gesturing with his hand as he spoke. Cas glanced at him confusedly but got up and approached Dean. The angel stopped about three feet away from Dean, the distance making the hunter roll his eyes. In a swift movement, he tugged on Cas’ arm and brought him in for a hug. The angel stood stunned for a moment before he settled into Dean’s arms. Slowly, he grasped Dean around the midsection and let the tension ebb away from his shoulders.

“This, right here? This is what it feels like to be held together.” Dean squeezed a bit tighter as he said the words, curling his fingers lightly into Cas’ trenchcoat. “Now, I’ve had Sam all these years to glue me back together when shit hits the fan, but I doubt any of your angel buddies were human enough to know what it’s like to need an anchor.”

Castiel shook his head no, his hair tickling Dean’s cheek as he did so. 

“Well, it feels like  _ this _ . It feels like, for just one moment, that weight isn’t just yours to bear anymore; you’ve got help, someone to carry some of the darkness for you,” Dean explained. He went to pull away from the hug but was stopped by a crushing grip tightening around his midsection. 

“It helps,” Castiel explained simply when Dean craned his head to look at Cas confusedly. He then rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder, his hair tickling the hunter’s ear. 

Dean was almost shaken hearing the words tumble out of Cas’ mouth. They held an almost scared tone, as if he was unsure of how he would hold himself together if he let go. Dean understood; he’d felt that way plenty of times after he returned from Hell. 

Dean nodded his head and settled back against Cas, his legs feeling tired yet he refused to offer that they sit down. Because Dean wouldn’t admit it aloud, but with the week they’d had he needed the hug, too.

As silence settled between them, Dean distinctly heard the faint opening lines of  _ Tennessee Whiskey _ by Chris Stapleton playing in the distance from his forgotten headphones. He smiled and hummed along, realizing at that moment just how important it was that his angel was once again at his side.


End file.
